Beneath a bloodshot sky where the angels weep for sin, I trace the scars of midnight painted deep upon my skin. A faded photograph of hope clings to the crumbling wall, I wander through these silent ruins—my lost soul heeds its call.
Beneath a bloodshot sky where the angels weep for sin, I trace the scars of midnight painted deep upon my skin. A faded photograph of hope clings to the crumbling wall, I wander through these silent ruins—my lost soul heeds its call.