Silently Broken
She’s just drifting, almost a golden myth
Her entity is shattered and falling at her feet.
Her bleeding lips cannot shake; she’s given up every breath
So she no longer has to speak.
Her chest is empty of longing and faith
The giving up is always harder than the living result.
Oh, this angel believes this world would be much better without her
Without her fractured smile or fault.
She knows love as only a gash in her heart
A terminal abrasion, her personal genocide.
For if the beat continues, surely her being
Is the slowest form of homicide?
Her remaining soul sings for freedom, she longs to turn her back
How she’d love to live without the tension and endless doubt.
But this is her numbness, it freezes the pain inside
It’s the only thing she can’t live without.
Her ashen lace against a midnight veil
If only she could stand from her pool of drowning and walk again.
But she’s grown accustomed to the tempest, cool hands of sorrow
She cannot leave the fading rain.
Her every whisper is repugnance against herself
The turmoil of her survival has begun to take its toll.
She wants in the snow for a dubious miracle
Like a colourless, abhorrent doll.
She’s shaking inside; why can’t they hear her screaming?
Why can’t they understand the downpour in her heart?
Misery is her only friend, they go hand in hand
Though she hates it, she can’t exist apart.
She’s the falling fairytale, the snow white sadness
The marble dedication to an eternal fatal laceration.
She’s a fable; an angel with ruby tears
Fighting for her own assassination.
And she’s sobbing, why can’t we hear her sobbing?
We can see her stinging emerald eyes, her permanent soaking.
But her lips refuse to tremble; she will never be perceived
Winter Seraph, silently broken.
Her entity is shattered and falling at her feet.
Her bleeding lips cannot shake; she’s given up every breath
So she no longer has to speak.
Her chest is empty of longing and faith
The giving up is always harder than the living result.
Oh, this angel believes this world would be much better without her
Without her fractured smile or fault.
She knows love as only a gash in her heart
A terminal abrasion, her personal genocide.
For if the beat continues, surely her being
Is the slowest form of homicide?
Her remaining soul sings for freedom, she longs to turn her back
How she’d love to live without the tension and endless doubt.
But this is her numbness, it freezes the pain inside
It’s the only thing she can’t live without.
Her ashen lace against a midnight veil
If only she could stand from her pool of drowning and walk again.
But she’s grown accustomed to the tempest, cool hands of sorrow
She cannot leave the fading rain.
Her every whisper is repugnance against herself
The turmoil of her survival has begun to take its toll.
She wants in the snow for a dubious miracle
Like a colourless, abhorrent doll.
She’s shaking inside; why can’t they hear her screaming?
Why can’t they understand the downpour in her heart?
Misery is her only friend, they go hand in hand
Though she hates it, she can’t exist apart.
She’s the falling fairytale, the snow white sadness
The marble dedication to an eternal fatal laceration.
She’s a fable; an angel with ruby tears
Fighting for her own assassination.
And she’s sobbing, why can’t we hear her sobbing?
We can see her stinging emerald eyes, her permanent soaking.
But her lips refuse to tremble; she will never be perceived
Winter Seraph, silently broken.