The Pitch Black Lake

Wearing her wickedness to bed
Like a coat of deviance
She slips another time into the mist.

The sun has fallen, drowned in the skyline
But now they are here; towering from lows to highs.

As the fireflies lit the heavens up
She escaped into the mist
She was bound by the edge of the world
Staring at the Pitch Black Lake.

Vaguely reminiscent of the sight the world provides
Cast upon an endless pilgrimage of self-reflection
But what this pool provides is dark beyond blackest night.

We were lead here not by the strife of another, but our own
But I'm almost certain that's why people travel to places
But in the deepest furnace of the soul, roots still remain of our homes
Do we cope with being lost rather than finding our way?

Wearing her wickedness to bed
Like a coat of deviance
She slips another time into the mist.

You and I... We both know...
Waxing, waning just like the tides
In denial.

As the fireflies lit the heavens up...
She was bound by the edge of the world
Staring at the Pitch Black Lake.