O'er the approaching madness,

Was their worry alight,
By a sun ever creeping,
Graves riddled beneath a canopy of the brightest light,
Covering the roots of the tree who,
By any other name would make sound the phrase,
Life hath gone and passed my by,
Beseeched that I may change my ways,

Wrapped up of seemingly confident rehearse,
Master of deceit, of darkness and worse,
Filtered through the strain of every downtrodden move made,
Lyrically though flattering timing isn't the only cliche',
So when I say it I mean it,
In passing,
In hesitation,
In desperation,
In realization,
In love,
In lust.

In ever so carefully worded ballads like ballistae through this broken, shell of a whole of a heart.

Burnt carcasses of every lie and wasted promise along the path lain before thee
Inspected by the inner workings of a hollow man.

A hollow heart,
A feeble attempt at normalcy,
Overshadowed by the beauty in his darkness,