Hyperviolet Estuary

Will the hammer ever fall?
Will the iron ever be hot enough?
Clinging to the illusion of freedom

It’s not what you think that makes you who you’ll become in this life

Pitch black skies spare no stars for guidance

It’s what you do with your time that makes you who you are

Empty shrines provide no providence
Sweating bullets
White knuckled waiting for this fever to break
Fingers laced
Free falling hammers kiss the clean slate
Too little too late

You have been staying on your own, in a hyperviolet еstuary
I can’t seem to find out where we wеnt wrong

Our collective past bleeds into the future
Where angels reveal their true nature
Circling overhead just like vultures
Before the beginning
Without end