Cold!

The arms that comfort me are not warm.

I feel the fingers.
Like frosty icicles.

Fingers that grasp my throat, heart, and soul.
My very being.

Blue devil, unlike the one in pages. Source of a personal winter.

Church… of cold!

Organs of freezing doom resound in my head.
Inside god's chilling tomb with temperatures below… Zero!

Fingers that grasp my throat, heart, and soul.
My very being.

The words of your angels are trapped…
By the blue devil, unlike the one in pages.
The source of a personal winter.


The ice is thick.
It is the barrier to the warmth.
Azure light that converts these children.
It is what robs them of their true path, before it is seen.

The ice is not there.
It is the idea that is the prison.

Inside is safe. Outside is cold.
When it's your ice that holds them back.
They are dead and I mourn them all.
All of the ones who run towards his grasp.

Grim!

Church of cold...
God of ice...

God! Of! Ice!

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