InkCell-Illustration

I cannot see or hear so well all these screams and sighs on which we dwell From far beneath the line we dive and now these griefs are burried alive Oh when they told us our God was dead we blamed our God for the tears we've shed How does it feel to know you've won now that the days we lived are done? So run away my craven boy to relish in you're stolen joy Turn your back on brandished knives and see how long your dream survives