Until Your Heart Stops (Segue 2)

A parasite that lost its appetite, and what he calls his own is yours to clean for. Walk with a weapon and fight just to see what draws the line between the now and yesterday. Scenes from the past, premonitions all too real. We dwell like antique paintings, older every day, older every day. Until a thief steals you from the wall, in the shadows of creative eclipses. I've noticed your handwriting improve over the years, though sometimes I can still smell shit in the ink. I can't clean this stain of a little boy, and sadly I am trapped in here for good. Locked my door and read these cryptic pieces a hundred-thousand times more. Simmering the need of peace that crushes the awake. Dwelling like antique paintings, older every day. Aimless is the mind on porcelain pillows. And we dwell like antique paintings, older every day.