Year of Our Lord, The

Tear yourself from me, I'll still be waiting here with sharp steel cuts covering my hands. My blood once ran warm. You burned me at the stake and left me dead upon the shores of broken dreams. You burned me long ago, and there's nothing left but memories now. That's when nerves go numb and spines turn into shards of glass. Algorithmic death, diastolic murder comes with every choking laugh and every glares. My intravenous death is all you left for me to bury with the broken picture frames. You burned me long ago, and there's nothing left but memories now. That's when nerves go numb and spines turn into shards of glass. Tear yourself from me, I'll still be waiting here with sharp steel cuts covering my hands. My blood once ran warm. You burned me at the stake and left me dead upon the shores of broken dreams. You burned me long ago, and there's nothing left but memories now. That's when nerves go numb and spines turn into shards of glass.




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