Promenade Ii

An lo'... Before I spirals the promenade A path that twists back upon its self I find a deep Well full of apathy... I travel the bones Of a forgotten METROPOLIS With towers of rotting stone Broken glass and wood burnt The imperial age of the obelisk I feel like a wanderer in a valley, sinister Faces of friends fall by the wayside An infernal sight of my histories lost... I see a path that spills before me That brakes in on me like black rain What was the cost Of self-designed damnation? There is no turning back... ...no heart can fathom I spirit the ghost nation... And furrow the pains without heed My hands grip the ground with dry stagnation... The coil of this beast is a writhing phantom I must guide the machines of my suicide Before me, I see the misty faces of white Maybe I can turn the tide I feel the eons press hard with all its might An Lo'... Forwards; on the horizons meanders the promenade. I count my sorrows in the coming rains Of a self-designed damnation! All is black... Drops fill an endless well... There is no turning back! I linger in the land... The land of the blind... A sprite of a ghostly nation... A wasted land A barren realm A vast forgotten city... I see the bones Of a forgotten METROPOLIS! Full of apathy and burnt stone I stare into the bottomless!