The Silent Song

Why does it hurt so bad
why do I feel so sad

is it for the loss

is it for the soundless song

I have no joy

I have only lies

the lies I've told

the ones I've got

the sense of being played for a fool

the sense of not having you

I am not without grief

a sorrow grown from the darkness

and the shell I allowed to cover my soul and heart

I can't feel a thing

she just doesn't make me beat

From the mind of Cogliostro

From the shadows I lurk

as if I were not there

seeing without being seen

watching unnoticed except by a few

their silence is my companion

Today and now

is when I want to be ignored

some existences are not welcome

some are not what was expected

other are just there

and the ones you wish for

can't be...

The easiest road to eternal life is hate

Oh, sweet hate

sometimes easy, others just not so

we all hate as we love

does it mean I am out of both?

What I know is simple

the dark aura grows around me,

not because of me but because of what I set

I want to see your end

I want to be there

I want to be your beginning

and sleep through

your sweet sand of endless dreams and sleeps

come take me and cover me out of this reality

From the mind of Cogliostro

After some time

I have lost my drive

I have no interest, but a basic instinct

of sending everything to hell

I want to let myself go

I want to scream

Some people are a curse,

some people just don't care

I've seen a lot and nothing at all

but in between all, I hate it all

I want but I can't.

 

From the mind of Cogliostro

As he rises with the first wisps of the morning light, 

he realizes that it was just a dream

and his life hasn't changed at all. 

The ideas will remain, 

the lady that once was dreamt, will not be, not just yet. 
 
His ideas, his illusions are but a sigh. 

Days of grey, days of cold, the senseless embrace, 

the alienation, the selfdestruction pf a light that got lost. 

The struggle continues, between himself and him; it has no end. 
 
He hungers for a simple life, maybe more, 

he yearns for those days when life was more than a word. 
To remember is to live again but it will never be the same 

for a life that has lived what it has lived, 

the return, the desire, the thought
She, him, them, us

From the mind of Cogliostro