Land of the Lost
How may I describe this world The one I try never to return back to Where the nights are longer And days are not warm enough This place I visit when I feel the need To descent into darkness Here where I feel a bit less alone Even when nobody knows me
This is where the boy lives He slit his wrists a long time ago To make ink, so his thoughts Can be written in brilliant red He sets his words free They grow wings and fly away Leaving him alone as he wanders These streets, not dead nor alive
Round the corner is the girl She snares the boyās words Keeps them in gilded cages After a day, she calls them hers She sells them to the visitors Mere souvenirs on their journey Thus makes a pretty penny For a pound of pain
At the center of the catacomb Lives the Lady of Grace She has taken all the hate And hurt, Life gifted her Turned them into diamonds Sets them on her crown Her devotees adore her, more than She has ever loved herself
This is where I come To serve up my soul in a plate To the passerby who does not Know the cost of this offering Lick my wounds when Life beats me up Sometimes I feel, this is where I belong Between the broken and the dead
- Color No. 37












