| <Switchblade (SWE)> page <Switchblade> album page |
Part IIIn death, highways past summer. Fields of home, draped in gloom of winter.Grief is owned, bound in effigy, on to monuments of stolen souls. His house is open, to drain the last drop of expression. So void. Relentless, to outlive. Outlive the loss. A knife for every time they speak his name. Swords toward the flocks that energize illusion. Rifles knocking on the gate of eden. Thousand suns turn their refuge to dust. |