Wasteland

We all shall dwell

in the house of madness,

siblings in mutual despair.

The stillness of gray hearts

is definately overwhelming.

The creation of love is rotting to the core

by the sands of time, by the hands of sore.

But we are immense, like a burden.

And it is true, we are getting wearier everyday,

slaves to the filthy empire of adorned pain.

But there is entertainment in this wasteland;

we can happily disdain or condemn

the beauty of someone else's soul.