|
There is a man...
Playing I violin...
|
And the strings... Are the nerves in his own arm. A twisted soul the mortar... despair the bricks... To build a Temple of Sadness. |
|
|
|
There is a man...
Playing I violin...
|
And the strings... Are the nerves in his own arm. A twisted soul the mortar... despair the bricks... To build a Temple of Sadness. |
|
# of posts: 151 - 250 |
 |
|
He makes his way home where he can be shapeless in the dark and paint his face in the colours of joy... Tonight, hell sends an angel bearing gifts... |
|
|
|
|
|
|