Confessor. Of the tragedies in man. Lurking in the core of us all. The last dying call for the ever lost. Brief encounters, bleeding pain Lepers coiled beneath the trees. Dying men in bewildered
Beating. Heart still beating for the cause. Bleeding. Soul still bleeding from the loss. Aching. Limbs are aching from the rush. Fading. You are fading from my sight Break of morning, coldness
