| — | Andy Biersack(Six). <3 (via spazzingforlove) |
We are an Army of outcasts living in the land of kings
Following The Prophet and the songs he sings.
Our heads are ringing with each note played,
telling us and teaching us to never be afraid.
The Mystic, The Mourner
The Deviant, and The Destroyer.
With their hands they release such a sound
That in the hearts of each soldier it will resound.
We are an Army of outcasts living in the land of kings
Following The Prophet and the songs he sings.
Our heads are ringing with each note played,
telling us and teaching us to never be afraid.
The Mystic, The Mourner
The Deviant, and The Destroyer.
With their hands they release such a sound
That in the hearts of each soldier it will resound.
left-overthoughtsfromtypewriters:
Do you talk about hearts?
If so, are they used in a metaphor about pain or love,
and not ironically?
Are you trying to rip off Cummings or Bukowski,
perhaps without even knowing it?
Do you press
enter like
this, for no
reason
other than to make
your
poetry seem more
creative?
Are you reading this right now, thinking,
“I’m pretty sure I don’t do any of that…
Well, maybe I did once or twice, but not often”?



