Trapped
By Sunset Rise
Raptures the mind, whom dark does control
I, once was fair, has become what she's not.
Withering…
Blistering…
Coveting…
Yes.
Witch with no name has her locked in a cage
Made up of her own body, the Witch does reign.
Listening…
Whispering…
Wrestling…
Mind.
Cannot begin to unravel its finds…
Ancient and old, Witch rhythm spits
Even asleep, she creeps from the pits.
Mustering…
Blustering…
Crucifying…
Feat.
Where dose hope lie,
If not in my reach?