Who Speaks Spanish? Colon Quesadilla
(Indisponível)
This cold floor we know too well. hearts poisoned with
pride.
black blood dotting our warmth.
ending our contentment.
this place is a contorted altar.
i must seek strength from somwhere,
for ive reduced myself to nothing. we've been here one
thousand times.
cold idle hands, floor-welcomed knees.
hello autumn- i need not your companionship. doubtless
i stand; laying my heart into the hands of eternity.
revive me doctines!
await the day, when all our blood will wash away.
the world's balance i'm too familiar with;
selfishness outweighs genorosity
blindness produced by your own hands afront your face.
lips bleeding with guilt.
frightful little fiends.
if these words mean nothing; than where is the
conclusion? lyricism aside, Christ is the deduction
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