I, a captive of autonomy, a proxy for ire and apathy,
will be erased, to preclude the recounting of my history.
I am neither undeserving of nor immune to
this expiration date, this “proper ending” fate.
Suddenly, a knock, the wolves approach with care,
with their claws prepared. I grow apprehensive.
They saunter inside with hungry eyes,
the fear, a less than human sight.
This is my design. I cannot repair them.
With fangs to my throat, I hold my breath.
The clock is ever adamant.
As the seconds pass, I await my sentence,
the end of the Architect.
In the harbor, the stone subsides to dust.
The severed threads unwind. The ruins turn to rust.
The waves recede in kind. Beneath a grieving sun,
the shifting sands divine uncertainty to come in time.
The color runs from iridescent sleep
to paint the Earth in kerosene memories.
Promises of love and paper-thin innocence
invite the Sun to swallow them.
The Candle burns to guide the wandering.
A sacrifice could never mend anything,
a passive act of insincerity,
foreshadowing a proper end to everything.
Now and then, amidst the many eyes I see,
it is hard to feel that I deserve to be there,
a portrait amongst those little frames,
afraid that I’m not good enough.
It is hard to fall when the world is watching,
they feast on defeat as wolves will do.
The color runs from iridescent sleep
to paint the Earth in kerosene memories.
Promises of love and paper-thin innocence
invite the Sun to swallow them.
The Candle burns to guide the wandering.
A sacrifice could never mend anything,
a passive act of insincerity,
foreshadowing a proper end to everything.
You were the constant in question.
You were the shadow of doubt.
I saw the lie in your smile.
Pleading for someone to save you now.
You were the constant, the anchor.
You were the shadow of her.
I saw her life in your smile.
This is the path she would choose.
You were the constant in question.
You were the shadow of doubt.
I saw the lie in your smile.
Pleading for someone to save you now.
The color runs from iridescent sleep
to paint the Earth in kerosene memories.
Promises of love and paper-thin innocence
invite the Sun to swallow them.
The Candle burns to guide the wandering.
A sacrifice could never mend anything,
a passive act of insincerity,
foreshadowing a proper end to everything.
supported by 8 fans who also own “IV. She Abandons the Grey”
Every single member of this band is incredibly skilled in their own right, but I love how much they accentuate each other's talents into these masterful tracks. The whole album is excellent. I'm so happy they were finally able to come to my home state and perform.
Incredible band, can't wait to listen to what comes next. quantumquail