On·The·MOOD
Count the tears... count the tears as they get spilled; with fire, with sin, to cease their hunger... Count the ash... And may this land, be ours; from the dust that comes to punish, and where it will return, one and a thousand times; you will, too, return; as dust, and no more than that. Modest... indifferent... Count the lifes that will be judged and then crumble, bowed down before the edge of their luck, and the fierceness of your call. So much rain, turned so golden... unannounced to finally wipe it absolutely, and take them to the Valley, where all eternity is lost... and where your eyes, too perish...
