The things that I see,
still stare back at me,
the things that make me cry.
The twisting pain,
it made me insane,
the pain that made them die.

I shed their tears,
I feel their fears,
feelings that can't be expressed.
They lived to well,
so now they roam in Hell,
for sins that weren't confessed.

Pushed to the side,
they don't know that they died,
they just roam in the bitter cold silence,
They cannot scream,
wake nor dream,
but they play with they fear that they sense.

I can't keep them at bay,
nor can I drive them away,
I am their only source of life.
All is in vain,
I must feel their pain,
that stings like a bitter cold knife…