IX "Mockery of the Trinity"

I lie down and lay to go to sleep

But my demons are not at rest

I begin to toss, turn, fall out of my sheets

It's just you sitting on my chest

 

There he stand, you better go not near

For he is clawed, made of sin

The widow looks for a soul to steal

Taking my breath, over and over again

 

The withering fly is patient

Lying on the white ceiling

Painting colors his peasant forsaken

Stoic souls to be stealing

 

There is a flower by the sun

But no light overhead

The widow turning his claws sung

Your soul's already dead

 

There is a darkness to every light

And bright sides every blue moon

But when has there been a blue night

When the moon is never blue

 

Waiting for time to be taken

That never returned

To the mines dug by three caveman

Ashes left of what's burned

 

A familiar shriek of pleasure and pain

Rang sharp sound waves through my ear drums

The falling treasure stolen by the rain

Had signed to be a slaved spectrum

 

As the widow sat by my chair

Times like this, lead me to a motionless stare

Thus my soul be listless unaware

I am sedating to these voices, at everything I glare

 

It's the times of black, when the dark of night

Drives me to insanity

Suppress a risk, to regain my sight

The widow marked his trinity