Sometimes, the Spirit becomes hyper-sensitive unto this flesh ? Perceiving
Most surely these poisons and imperfections which mark, it's many truths...
Anxious or better irritable one's emotions while rushing through their veins
An escape if only they could; yet nowhere to run nor hide from this plague ?
Humanity crafted be these claws of reason dark the blood within, everyone
His purpose shall it ever not sleep ? Her night gazing upon their living dead
Ever risen from this fleshly grave death's blackboard screeching nails crying
Screaming her Spirit tormented by these tombs bound and chains his valley..
Angels children fire as pain; What is your name ? Legion, when truth collides.