Texty: Woe Of Tyrants. Tempting The Wretch.

Heeding the call of my resilient foe,
Absorbing the sound of the melodies silent.
All of my dreams turning scarlet,
My screams startling allies in the pale of the moon.
I'm contemplating what
I've seen; the bright of the morning
That survived the night.
Dreams remembered in fragments.
Shards of glass reflect...
Shards of glass reflecting the pale of the moon.
In the pale of the moon, I dance amongst damned.
This dance of the dead, the melodies guiding me,
Playing unheard, dead in the pale of the suffering moon.
With this revelation,
I feel even more at the brink of risk.
These things in the darkness that
I cannot see nor resist.
Dancing with fire, resting in the ash that coats my skin.
Brings me to life again.
Awaken screaming in the darkest of the night.
The fire heats the sky,
Lifting me into a conscious nightmare.
Revealing that the windows still in tact,
The murals not defiled, the window to
The soul has not been broken.
Warmth outstanding candlelight,
The flicker on the wall;
A better sense of the apathy in the corner of the room.
The door creaks, barely heard as I shiver in my skin.
The candle dancing violent now as if it somehow has heard.
This is vengeance, this is beauty somehow defiled.
This is the culmination of...their desire to enter me.
What I've seen, how quickly white fades
To gray within what fathers the wiles of the devil.
A farce of this dark memory, the wiles of the devil,
The wiles of the devil.
Heeding the call, now I'm a flurry spinning about the room.
The glass cutting into my feet as
I embrace the fall into the floor.
Descend, remember, the sound of the whisper
In your ear...your ear.
Now I'm a flurry spinning about the room.
The glass cutting into my feet.
As I embrace the fall it crumbles away.
Descend, remember, the sound of the whisper in your ear.
I stare at the walls alive, moving about to a beat
I must resist.
Refusing every advance, slipping hopeful back to sleep.
My eyes shut, I sense the cold, with whispers in my ear.