nothing here's alive, or moving
just broken pieces and remains of something
all sat in silence, all are still
except for bits of yourself, still left to kill

all life's hurt in a single moment
along with all its pain and torment
carved off from the insides your head
like it was not yours, never had

the wound does not heal
why should it ever be?
the truth is all too real
alone, in this infinite eternity

you remember, but it's too late
the church of lies you built, the path you take
see past all the hate
every friend, every hurt yours to make