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Bleeding from the eye, and all I see is red.

The castle cult is calling me, there’s burgundy in bed.

The door slams shut, the buzzards break bread.

Can you hear the sound of luck, there’s nothing left but nine.

You’re running out of time.

You’re running out of time.

The chalkboard talks, redemption - writing sold.

Your palette changing paint, worthless brush.

Galop as the garden greets the Gander King.

Pockets empty with a gold inception.

Waiting for the mistress to walk.

The wick burns faster, it’s a matter of time.

Tell me, pyromancer - what’s your name?

Are you hiding from your mother?

Something lurks between the treasures.

Something tells me that she’s mourning you.

Run.

Run.

Run.

Run.

Burn the bridges between man and demon spawn.

Your soul connected by a thread.

My blood is Indigo

The carpet unravels, the champion of hatred

Will bury her children between the eyes of empathy.

We are not detectives, we don’t know directions,

We have no incentives, mosquito bites to show our blood.

Voices are crowding, surrounding the pond. A mystery,

Her history, a child so fond.

Time’s up.