Dead Silence

Thes air is cold,

This world is dead,

Beautiful roses,

Adorned with thorns,

So beautiful to look at,

So painful to the touch,

‘Tis the tale of everything,

In a world,

Wrapped up,

In a desolate,

Dead silence

The sky is black,

The 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 full,

But in this world,

This dead, dry land,

No glass exists,

There is nothing to be filled,

Yet no one cares; they’re all dead,

And wrapped in a blanket,

Of misery and sadness,

In this world of desolate,

Dead silence.