The clock strikes twelve
a strained substance hovered
muddled by the ambiguous scent, shapes and sizes.
Yearning for blood, could I comprehend?
while I am entangled in this impervious knot
too deep-rooted, I cannot seem to break free.
The continuous charismatic cadence
too deafening that left me masking with unsavoury moisture
that lingers inanimately just enough to coat the stench
but somehow the rhythm entices my curiousity
it heightens with every note
with every beat, draws me closer to...
The future, I was patiently waiting
was immediately within reach
but all I hear were chants of "stop"
"before you break, before you burn"
"before your body turns to ashes"
"stop".
Dizzy, I turned to look at the crowd to find a way out
let the pieces fall into place, I figured
I'll take my god damn time, I reaffirmed
I have acquired the knowledge to rise
from the blunder I call my own
to stand tall
oh, the sweet victory I could taste
and nothing else matters
nothing...
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