Misery Signals - Sword Of Eyes

There is no one on the air,
I chase parading ghosts in burning memory
through empty shells of stolen moments
as all the stains are reassuring us
that they happened.
Poring over the fragments found, lost in portrayal,
reflected back unto ourselves.
I've been reduced to a faded impression.
Attention paid, critical.
These elements, they fail to align.
I realize this is passing.
Do they become something more
under the surface of an image paralyzed
as we become nothing?
Spectral trails echo on the air,
aperture set.
Projected whispers through empty shells
of stolen moments pouring over.
Look back, our illusion is the abstract trail of time behind. And I give myself to the truth.
Flesh fed to the piranhas,
liar's blood it falls into water.
Where only the water survives,
I'll stare into my own false eyes
and watch the life in them die.

The past will lay dead
when the present is slain by the sword of eyes.
Watch these words run silent, run deep, run together.
You can't have it back,
you can never have it back.