Self Loathing Orchestration (Bishop Of Hexen)

The turmoil, the tempest and the burns The inner lament, nothing magnificent! Screens on the outside... The promise, the hope and the scars The inner voice, mute, screams way out of sight Turn over stone after stone, to reveal a scorpion The turmoil, the tempest and the burns Promise... A feeble glow in the dark... evoling only to descent A stare is enough to... put them out Self loathing Orchestration A shaken young man Has aged far before it's mine Now the days have passed When he paved his way through the lies They haunt him at night, and reflect through his eyes A twich caught moth The hunter become the hunt Whence will come serenity that Has no death as its roll Where lays silence that doesn't bind with loneliness to become a whole ? While sleeping, by nightmares he is devoured His body inhabits a dead soul, eyes empty and hollow Awaken! Heed our call Don't let go until you become a whole Live thy dreams fulfill thy desire Dream to live And never ever cease