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Into the trees
Past meadow grounds
And further away from my home
Baying behind me
I hear the hounds
Flock's chasing to find me alone
A trail of sickness
Leading to me
If I am haunted
Then you will see
Searching the darkness
And emptiness
I'm hiding away from the sun
Will never rest
Will never be at ease
All my matter's expired so I run
There falls another
Vapor hands released the blade
Insane regrets at the drop
Instruments of death before me
Lose all to save a little
At your peril it's justified
And dismiss your demons
As death becomes a jest
You are the laughing stock
Of the absinthe minded
HATA BİLDİR
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