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Avhath
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IV. The Solipsist
We're not defined by the time
toughen the knot and symphony will rhyme
these sparse of solitaries. sentiments of a man.
My fear against the ground
would it all make sense now?
Dead wretched opossum lay, the moon is risen in my last day.
Ain't we all just imageries of our past?
Ask me to sing the rest
Ache that forever rests
Harrows the idea of silent quest
The idea of living
For forever, for what we desire, the mutual solace.
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