This flesh holds me captive and in quest of liberation...nAs the sheep flock in the dissonance, I tread in dissent.nTo the piercing light that sears our hearts;nTo the sickness that plagues our spirits...nI cannot revere in this blind acceptance and falter in my comprehension.nForfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire!nHeal this restless spirit – that bestowed naught.nHeal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign!nHeal my heart, my weeping soul...nI consign this putrid flesh.nNothing here, nobody there...nErroneous illness shouting.nThe outcry reviles this tattered soil...nDrowning the world in filth and distortion.nForfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire!nHeal this restless spirit – that bestowed naught.nHeal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign!nHeal my heart, my weeping soul...nI consign this putrid flesh.nI’ll leave my conscience to die.nA barrenness of dreams and anticipation;nLife and hope shrivel into the void.nHeal my heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign!nHeal this heart, my weeping soul...nI consign this putrid flesh.nIn this pantheon of sorrow,nWe are everything, yet nothing!nAnd as long we’re breathing,nThe burden devoid of conclusion!nUnaided I slither – ravaged, silent and alone.nI smolder in anxious strife; I decline these exhausted remnants of decay.nThe world is coming to an end; a vast ocean of disease...nAll hope is lost... or perhaps this is the cradle of salvation.nI must tranquil these turbulent waters.nNo more expressions shall leave my trait...nNo further words shall be spoken.nThis illness they conceived broke my tired wings.n