5-101 - Poured Out

Blank stares, subtle scars on the faces of the people in a comatose state.

They are the nameless.

Cold skin, cold blood from a cold world.

Hiding away all their grimace.

They feed off life to cure their sickness.

They don’t know that they are already dead.

Pulling me under, whispering lies to make me forget, forget my name.

The infection is spreading, the reaper is calling, my world is ending.

The eyes of emptiness devoured;

my eyes fixed.

A skeptic with new sight to see that the pale horse exists.

Forcing death’s sting on me.

Weight of all retribution.

Forcing death’s sting on me.

Will I suffer damnation?

I will never forget my name.

They won’t stop but I won’t bow.

I won’t be their follower.