Featherweight
Nightcrawlers
our lives are blindly crawling- open sores over cold cracked concrete make faint footprints, and attempt mapping of the height,length,width,cracks,crevices- the walls and the floors, but never fully sure: just more reaching, stumbling as if there would be a light switch or a door- there are only wind-swept whispers from far corners and yelling in return, both parties trying to learn if the other is real- but Death: the eventual stumbling over the edge of the room- forever falling: unconscious (though never fully aware) into sense-deprived nothingness; shows his facetious face and all is lost- aside from the delicate, frantic art left by yearnful years of dragging through the dark.
Aus Songtexte Mania