Bathing in the alluring grace
Of the radiant summer sun...

The walk
The crowd...

I have been to Langley
I have seen the white stone crypt...

In his house he is god
A god of pain and flaying...

As a gentleman you’ll tip your hat to me
Whilst slowly popping off my fingernails...

We’re all broken
We’re all in pain...

Through king of man provoking fear
While god like saints walk apse of white...

The leaves die and fall
Some cling on like a rat in a dry well...

I feel like you are waiting for me my friend
Waiting for the wolf to let me in...

Feel like I want to write about
A girl who hates her own skin...

The father asked for a cliche
He moulded us in this way...

No solace in dark dreams
In sleep there’s just dread...