Triumph of Man

Pebbles, your stone has turned cold.

Oh mother, I wish you didn’t lay so much stress on your head. Backed up against the wall. You lay strong not yet dead. We fight out alone, this hell we call home. Entranced in, felt a victim of sin. Stronger now I hope we can get it. Off of your back. Laid myself through it. I now without home am still going to be perfectly fine. If not i’ll butcher it.

4 weeks ago