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Beauty is empty eyes |
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Completely void of any warmth or light that complicates our sight |
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Meaning succeeds itself and from the ashes raises new beliefs |
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That I have never felt |
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Doomed to fail, 'cause sound is directional |
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And I'm the only one that hears it now |
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And I'm the only one that is dead enough to not care, to not feel |
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Now I hear it every night, silence seeps in through the windows |
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I hear the hollows of your eyes and it becomes you |
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It's a nothing that you can't hide |
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It is all wrong |
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Does this hurt? Abandon sense of "hands don't clap" to never be the same |
