I hear those that talk,

yet they speak of nothing.

I see eyes that look,

yet they perceive nothing.

I see faces,

and know them to be only masks.

Flesh does walk the streets,

leaving its soul behind,

forever under the trick that you have mind.

You see but are willingly blind.

Never a deed most good nor a word most kind

only war do I see,

and how I only wish to flee,

this world of mine this world that bleeds.

Madmen and gore's lead the world,

till all that is left is a shell unfurled.

Mightily do they laugh,

as they take men for their craft,

women for their love,

and children for their laugh.

Idly by do we sit,

in hopeless comfort,

in desperate peace, our souls in metal have left the trees.

It is not blood but life we bleed.

And still I hear those that talk,

yet they speak of nothing.

I see eyes that look,

yet perceive nothing.

I see faces,

but of souls left there are only traces.

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