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外链地址
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He paints the sky with our regrets,
And calls it love beneath his breath.
Strings of fate entwined in pain,
We dance to hymns we can’t contain.
We kneel, we beg, we pray for grace,
But he just smiles behind the haze.
Our tears, his ink — he writes our fall,
In stories where we never call.
Are we his angels, or broken designs?
Porcelain hearts on invisible lines.
Oh, divine masquerade,
Where sinners and saints are the same.
He pulls our souls like marionettes,
And laughs as we drown in his game.
Oh, to bleed in your name,
Is to love through eternal shame.
If heaven’s a lie we can’t escape,
Then let me burn for the beauty of blame.
He carved our hearts from starlit stone,
Then left us shivering, alone.
Every prayer, a coin he keeps,
In fountains where the dead don’t sleep.
Our halos rust, our wings decay,
Still we reach toward the dying day.
And though his hand rewrites our fate,
We’ll curse his name and call it faith.
We are his dreams in mortal disguise,
Souls that he feeds to the void of his eyes.
Oh, divine masquerade,
Where sinners and saints are the same.
He pulls our souls like marionettes,
And laughs as we drown in his game.
Oh, to bleed in your name,
Is to love through eternal shame.
If heaven’s a lie we can’t escape,
Then let me burn for the beauty of blame.
If love’s a war he loves to lose,
Then why are we still bleeding through?
If free will’s just a painted cage,
Then call me the ghost of your stage.
Gods fall in silence, mortals in grace,
Both wear the same sorrowed face.
And if he smiles when I decay —
At least I lived my own damn way.