Standing Still

Death is a familiar face
Its smell comes from within
a rotten bliss to my faithless soul

Death is one hell of a good pal
along my side in thoughts
never letting go

Death within the time
as it goes by
tearing apart
every inch of expectation
every hour that is left in the dust of past

Death has ever whispered me
There is no doctor to heal those wounds
no therapist to stop the pain
It always talks about it
And I sigh

Death has ever whispered me
There is no doctor for our soul
There is no directions to paradise
There is no escape from pain
And I sigh