Standing spells
When the winter strikes midnight
with communicable darkness,
the walls start crumbling underneath--
scratchy worn out souls;
itching to skin-out every shred of flesh,
to serve the swinging, sparkling threads it once gazed upon;
the lamentation of voices,
that cracking old...
with communicable darkness,
the walls start crumbling underneath--
scratchy worn out souls;
itching to skin-out every shred of flesh,
to serve the swinging, sparkling threads it once gazed upon;
the lamentation of voices,
that cracking old...