Red Gravel and Purple Skies
The side of my head flat against the ground.
Bitter cold air makes it hard to breathe.
Red gravel and purple skies.
A sickening stench of rotten flesh, my senses have come to know.
The Past tormenting, the Future terrifying -
From the corner of my eye, it makes its way.
Helplessly hopeless - I resort to prolonged self-denying.
Never-mind living, when in death there's harmony.
No tears, No fears, but a crier cries out '' Die Reject, Die!''
Such a sight it is indeed, if only now I could take some heed,
At my old lady's feet I should beg and I should plead.
Or do I fancy a sledge-hammer bashing in my scull twenty-five thousand times until my dreams go void and null?
This is I taking heed, Oh Dear Lord.
Oh Dear Lord.
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