Wretched - Crisis

I’m so cold.

nothing on the inside

So burn me

So cold.

no one to hold

So burn this body

I’m not feeling anymore

Chilling, now I’m turning to stone

So burn this wretched body

Angel ambrace this disheveled wretch

I am the thief who hides the light beneath the filth of burning fingers

Smothered under not quite drowning reaching over, not quite living

This is the gravedigger who throws his own body

Beneath the shit you tread carry me there

Regret the life tarry onward running away calloused

These ribs hold no more than hollowness — a hole dug as my grave

Though I’m buried insode my head

Already dead to your touch, to your light

Your eyes march forward with condemnation…

Feel this solitude

Burn with me