Moon lit waste

Offer me my soul, and sell me my rights
I'd like not to be free, of torturous shame
this battle has never, been such a delight
long live the near deceased, so true to their game

encrypted tails, of moon lit waste
and flood hit dwells, so pure and real
sculpted hearts, wounded from pure grace
dreamt heaven was evil, not to be healed

gorgeously damned beyond true belief
When pure light trickles amongst the ground
such prey’s not conjured nor stricken from grief
like a butterfly's view, of our violate town

What miraculous fortune
wondering in great chosen paths
I'll try make the sand dunes
smile, talk and laugh