Without a purpose, without a sound

To bask in regard of the place I’m allowed to call my destined conclusion

I have it all when I’m wrong

Rust and blood paint the portrait you wrought

Life as dirt

I have it all when I am wrong

Pariah, you’ll cry out

A fire to die out

A war behind the flesh and bone to salve the sight of absent hopes

A prayer rings throughout these halls and maims promise of healing