Let my silence narrate thy herasy
Truth being slayed by grim reality

The void is more succulent,
With spluttered peels of masks.
Let my flesh feel her blood
In the garden of guarded masks.
The void is more precious.

Let their lips bear world's jealousy
Light being stabbed by her flattery.

The absence lasts longer
With verdicts from crinkled leathers
Let them feed on my solace
In the brazzen market for feathers
The absence stayed ever loyal

Let our shrieks address grieveances
Faith being exiled by lure ignorance