• Faces, all I see now are faces
    some trembling with fear and hate
    others living with the tangled laces
    of thread of their own corruption, pittyless fate.

    Unsure of what is truth anymore
    the faces of the solemn soldiers march
    telling of their forgotten lore,
    moods fluxuating like an endless arch.

    They live in subliety and chastity from their own logic
    and torment themselfs by beliving the unvelivable
    wishing demons of their body dissapear by magic
    only to find that such a gift... sadly... is impossible