20 September 2012
A skinny finger without flesh, Tears through my weak skin, And while this a quiet rest, Should come right in,
I guess I'm going crazy, Day after insane day, I'm seeing a bone tree, As my mind washes away,
This river, it's dyed deep red, And I don't know what to think, And just like I have said, My brain is on the rink,
The river is their blood, The blood of the tree, It's trickled through the mud, Well that's what my mind sees,
And worst is this looking glass, It seems it's made of eyes, But maybe it is not my me at all, This vision is not mine!
Vile Village • Opuss № I