(Source: staticheat)
In the ashen haze of the broken morn,
where whispers of grey matter cloud
creep across the dawn
There is no noise,
though the silence is loud
unnerving and questionable
amassing further doubt
In the broken heart of an ashen man,
there lies dead roses,
sixty five can be found
There is no noise,
though the silence is loud,
unnerving and questionable
amassing further doubt
As roses long buried,
turn to dust - a display of decay
So the man looks to the dawn
whispering goodbye to the grey
There is no noise
Though the silence is loud,
unnerving and questionable
amassing further doubt.
