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de Deafheaven

Destined as the servant to the night
Where your Moon dreams of the dirt
And the sharp tongue of your zealous will
Is only congruent with the salt in your mouth
And the approaching eulogy of the world

Lost in the patterns of youth
And the ghost of your aches comes back to haunt you
And the forging of change makes no difference

Memories fly through the mask of your life
Shielding you from time
The years that birthed the shell that you gained
Hunched over in apathetic grief

With a disregard for steps except the one taken back
Perched up on a rope crafted in smoke
A sword wielding death that buried your hope
Focusing on light through the blinds

A slave to reality under a monarch in the sky
Lost in the patterns of youth
Where the windows shine brightly back at you

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