Sin
You don't make up for your sins in church
You do it on the streets
You do it in your soul
You do it in your heart
You do it in your home
Angry ace alienated...you do it all alone
My sins are subliminal introspective nightmares
Where beautiful faces turn into menacing stares
Where beauty turns to ugliness on the drop of a dime
Falling further in the flames while scratching for the sky
My sins are silent invisible needles and threads
Slowly sowing and reaping my soul into death
It gets deeper and darker as I take another step
Will this be the final scene?
Will this be my final breath?
My sins are strange insidious notions
Higher than Heaven and deeper than an ocean
Malfunctioning submarine
Stuck in reverse
Begging for a blessing as I still crave the curse
Now I can see that long black hearse out there on Hells horizon
My sins they start to speak and just like wicked weeds...
They are rising
Now I run through fields of fire and I fall into tangled traps
Stretched
into
nothingness
For the wages of sin is death
Copyright © Anthony Beesley | Year Posted 2014
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