TRIBUTE TO "ANATHEMA"

I awake in the dream demise as I remember and wander with questions without answer.
I would go out and fade with a grey over a greyer grey; bleak walls to weep on…
Shiny fates turned to stone, hopes… to dust!
Bring me a dying candle to light over a broken promise!

My water is a bleeding scar.
My air is a silent empty laugh that comes from nowhere.
My food is a drowning defeat.
My dreams are a dying wish inside a lamp without a genie inside.

So tired that I can’t or want to escape, who can tell…
So bored that I wouldn’t be awake…
A torso before blowing up in the swamps of delusion like lonely wild winds inside a cell…
The twilight of souls…

There’s nothing left to sigh about, nothing left to long for something.
Overwhelming wraith of decadence; let me die here awhile, in confusion.
Nothing’s left to care for, nothing matters…
Despair bullets on a mirror; weird reflections of irreconcilable visions and shattered dreams.
Infinity or destruction, who cares about it; the world is paralyzed by a single bill and blind to mouth-less faces; motionless before and after the storm.
Who’s the one that gaze through a window to a world that never cared about tears of frost?
I would know but that window was a mirror and no one’s there, it was a dry illusion in a desert of burning coins.

I awake and it’s true, a bleak garden of indifference hails me but I’m wandering and standing in a dusk-filled room despondently watching the thrones of grief; waiting for the sunset of age; my springs died long ago buried under unnamed tombstones…
Born slave, unconscious of that state, we should pay even to fade away…
Tormented echoes of freedom are the fake that run inside our veins.

The dust is an enigma, the ashes a recall of what will inevitably be!
The seeds of ruin are growing as fast as ignorance and unconcern.
A maze of supreme egocentricity orchestra…
Elysian Fields are a graveyard of unknown mists and restless oblivion for the forgotten.
Hymns of decay sound while dirty feathers of an impaled angel are falling.
Rusted trumpets announcing the feast of bones and spilled blood…

This is my song… just a delusion of silence…