Whispers inside my subconscious. My pride rips it away.
Words are unwritten. The pictures are pasted on time I erased.
Now that I see them the tears keep on falling on wells that will not dry.
For all the reasons I want to believe them, they hurt when I try.
Futures are calling. Their paths keep on falling, the shade spreads it's night.
Measures are taken to stop it from shaking, the ground of pagan light.
Failure to limit the intake of fuses that light my world on fire,
Grips the illusion and shows that I'm nothing but a mime caught in the mire.
Because whispers are little fiends, making their dreams not shown.
And now that I see them I want to release them, from the pit of the unknown.