Broken and wasted away. The shadows burnt into its surface, the life burnt off. Where once stood a symbol of our vitality and wealth, now there lies the penalty of living a life too grand. Where once there was love and energy, now there are endless fields of ashes.
With the charcoal we can write and remember, but the feeling is forever crushed. Joy has never been known, and like a rose that has never seen the sun we crumble. Did this place once hold us? When the city crumbles, so do the bounds that hold us to our old lives. Those shadowy rose thorns break off and become thorns in our hearts.
The bones are hostile reminders or our past. The symbols of an old life. The symbols of our defeat. Miserable bones that know no rest; their time is over but their purpose is not. They build a throne we can share. King and Queen of this desolate future; keepers of our stained history.
The ashes will grow as we spread our own across the ruin. Scattered and lonely cries of desperation will echo in the violent wind and carry our message across an unforgiving ocean as our own ocean of drifting shards will carry us apart.
With only ashes for our home and a harsh sun eternally judging us few survivors, we push on. The city lights will never shine again, but their artificial life still beats in our veins like a horrible memory. The wraiths that form this new life know only the ashes and bloodstained clouds that recoil at the sight of our misery monument. And now we will fight for it and die for it, like we always have.
Swallow your fear and light the matches.
("As we walk through the ashes I whisper your name.")
With the charcoal we can write and remember, but the feeling is forever crushed. Joy has never been known, and like a rose that has never seen the sun we crumble. Did this place once hold us? When the city crumbles, so do the bounds that hold us to our old lives. Those shadowy rose thorns break off and become thorns in our hearts.
The bones are hostile reminders or our past. The symbols of an old life. The symbols of our defeat. Miserable bones that know no rest; their time is over but their purpose is not. They build a throne we can share. King and Queen of this desolate future; keepers of our stained history.
The ashes will grow as we spread our own across the ruin. Scattered and lonely cries of desperation will echo in the violent wind and carry our message across an unforgiving ocean as our own ocean of drifting shards will carry us apart.
With only ashes for our home and a harsh sun eternally judging us few survivors, we push on. The city lights will never shine again, but their artificial life still beats in our veins like a horrible memory. The wraiths that form this new life know only the ashes and bloodstained clouds that recoil at the sight of our misery monument. And now we will fight for it and die for it, like we always have.
Swallow your fear and light the matches.
("As we walk through the ashes I whisper your name.")
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