Dead Silence

The air is cold,

This world is dead,

These "beautiful" roses,

Each adorned with biting thorns,

So beautiful to look at,

So painful to the touch,

‘Tis the tale of everything,

In this world,

Wrapped up,

In a desolate,

Dead silence

The sky is black,

These tress are bare,

And these dead children,

Aren’t going anywhere,

They’ll just lie here frozen,

Waiting for someone to release them,

From this world of desolate,

Dead silence

Her heart is cold,

And his is broken,

Her glass is empty,

His glass is full,

But in this world,

This dead, dry land,

No glass exists,

There is nothing to be filled,

Yet no one cares; they’re just all dead,

And wrapped in a blanket,

Of misery and sadness,

In this world of desolate,

Dead silence.