This flesh holds me captive and in quest of liberation... As the sheep flock in the dissonance, I tread in dissent. To the piercing light that sears our hearts; To the sickness that plagues our spirits... I cannot revere in this blind acceptance and falter in my comprehension. Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire! Heal this restless spirit - that bestowed naught. Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate - I consign! Heal my heart, my weeping soul... I consign this putrid flesh. Nothing here, nobody there... Erroneous illness shouting. The outcry reviles this tattered soil... Drowning the world in filth and distortion. Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire! Heal this restless spirit - that bestowed naught. Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate - I consign! Heal my heart, my weeping soul... I consign this putrid flesh. I'll leave my conscience to die. A barrenness of dreams and anticipation; Life and hope shrivel into the void. Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate - I consign! Heal my heart, my weeping soul... I consign this putrid flesh. In this pantheon of sorrow, We are everything, yet nothing! And as long we're breathing, The burden devoid of conclusion! Unaided I slither - ravaged, silent and alone. I smoulder in anxious strife; I decline these exhausted remnants of decay. The world is coming to an end; a vast ocean of disease... All hope is lost... or perhaps this is the cradle of salvation. I must tranquil these turbulent waters. No more expressions shall leave my trait... No further words shall be spoken. This illness they conceived broke my tired wings.
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