Miasma کے بول

An empty street No shred of light Am I awake? Am I blind? Forgotten... I scream... A tightlipped prayer A thought of lust A distant memory of my ill-natured past A past of sin... Disfigured, Misshapen Pariah born of sin Deformed, reformed From anguish deep within Miasma self inflicted wound Belated cries of ruefulness falling on deaf ears We're falling... Retribution The mark of Cain, like Prometheus chastened again and again An aeon of grief... Illuminate the stars Form constellations Reanimate your God in blind desperation Pray till he appears Now pray. Pray... Miasma, God's relentless hand No prayers heard, no mercy granted Nothing.