Those Horrors Wither

Foscor

Bless them, those horrors set a chill inside
Death line marks a rush ahead
The gaze backwards claims the freedom
Sway onwards, can’t unfold my i

Fear to be scared can evolves in a lie
The mass hides
Primary instincts reveal a new cusp

Rejoice the blind god that word writes
And ride across the swarm,
A shameful moral hole

Primary instincts are virtuous darts
They have the keys of life and death
Remain intact for those who face truth

Frail being struggling out exist

Darkness... Anxiety and fear rise
The wrenching love... Renews desires and voids
Unknown... Awes the agressions around
The lingering sigh... Discipline of the growth control

Look me, learn me, concludes the fire
Those horrors make me strong