De one with Burnt

Sombre

Wipe that smile off thy face;
Canst thou not see bleeding tears and pain,
From which set thine burning in flames;
Ashes of scars that prick insane.

The sacred stone has melt to flesh;
Cry not handsome nor cutie prey,
Vicious world of loving-hate;
How have thine burn in felon fate.

Perhaps its karma;
Perhaps its fate;
Perhaps its fuming of passion's rage.

Thy dosage rain of needled canes;
Scorn thy heart with acid aim.
Spirit dissolve in phantom phase.

Oh when will that lining shine again;
Deepest thee far far away.

Craving thoughts of unsettled fame.

Couldn'st speak of songless grain.