Cold Heart/Bloody Palms

How cold is the heart that's as brittle as glass
Shattering to shards on the cusp of your grasp
And those shards are the razors that you grind in your hands
For in the ecstasy of pain only you'll understand
Feeding the fire to obliterate those dubious charms
The glass cannot glisten drenched in the blood from your palms

   Can you not shed a tear, are you misunderstood?
   Or are you purging the sorrow with your own vapid blood?
   Lazily leaking from each jagged rip
   Depleting your reasoning with each languid drip

Blood covered glass is embedded in the rents on your palms
And the hellish fire that's burning should've given cause for alarm
But those shards that are razors you now grind in your face
Ruinously gouging and shredding as you bid to escape
You're the fire, the blood and now you sob in agonized rasps
For cold is the heart that's as brittle as glass

Old Demons

I really don't know, I don't know where to begin

But all those old demons who lurked...

Well, they still lurk within

Some choose to creep, some choose to crawl

But do you know them, like I know them?

The ones that trick and the ones that trawl?

And who the hell are you anyway?

Sitting there staring at me...

With your silent opinions and with naught to say

Smiling that smile, showing those bloody fangs for teeth

You know them, don't you? Like I know them

Cos I've seen you before, but not holding a wreath

And with a wreath (it's not the end) it's where I begin

The symbol of old demons who lurked...

And they still lurk within

So you must be one of them who is always haunting

With your dead flowers in a ring

And your mocking look that's naught but taunting

But who the hell am I anyway?

Sitting here staring at you...

With my silent opinions and with naught to say

But my smile's as broad as a mile as the sirens sing a song of sin

Cos I know them as well as you know them

                             All those old demons who still lurk, they lurk within