Ponitus Decor

These walls don't speak but leak of my demise, and these useless hands I can't help but despise, they can only do as I imply, as sins upon mortals I revise. Inherently mine these lights do not shine, do not live, do not give, do not entwine my way back to the sight, cannot sway the maker I inhibit the taker of souls, I remain awake to the screams of my patients. Wait patiently in the dark with stark of a smile cross my lips, I speak of their shifts of life, These tools I adore to restore the beauty of death upon a whore of the breath. On these beautiful eyes of green I have seen the work of my clean blades change the sheen of a peasant to a queen, let the blood run dry as long as you sigh at your sight in the roads after I'm done a maiden this shy will flatter even a rose.