In the darkness of the sky's without a moon on the desolate night be weary of the sounds that herald a maiden, for in this your death comes right They are not children, they are not women, they are monsters, formless creatures to be sure and for the helpless that wander their ways in the city, prayers be to them for that false lure They are born armless within the darkness of the place we stay far from near but should you see them with hands, they were once owned by another I come to fear Hand keepers...unfeeling, relentless...wishing to be perhaps as their past once came to be but feel nothing for the beasts...or perhaps like many before in them true fear you will see.
It's actually interconnected with a quiet story that is taking place in my gallery. I refer to it as Buddha. It follows one know as the Traveler, whom can only see from their hands. Perhaps in due time there will be deeper expression in the meaning of all this dark and morbid stuff. :)
It's actually interconnected with a quiet story that is taking place in my gallery. I refer to it as
I like that. I like that a LOT! Someone who sees with their hands..not just having eyeballs in their palms..which is ok too..but actually SEES with their hands! That is NEAT! :D
I like that. I like that a LOT! Someone who sees with their hands..not just having eyeballs in their
