The Enchantment of Denunciation.

When do we fall in ourselves?
Why do we stall our past lives?
Shouldering all our faults, knocking ourselves to the cast line,

Dripping with memories ofcourse, bleeding into this afterlife,
Frolicking on the moor, taking lives in our second chance,
Tumbling into another wartime, choking with all our intertwine,

Only to touch you,
Only to feel to,
Only to curse you,
Only to vent you,
Only to kiss you,
Only to kill you.

Would you weigh yourself into this blaze?
Wouldn't you ask another question?
Would you feel easier if it was done?

Nearest are walking towns, joking along with the temple drums,
Beating to the sound of mockery and lurking happiness,

Wouldn't do to crave for all that's washed away.


Only to be blamed,
Only to be crawled to,
Only to be felt,
Only to be wounded.