After it passes us by. The harsh, cries of the weak Harborers of false faith The wanderers, Lost in a sea of Immeninent denial. Only our time here will tell. While they sharpen the knife Oblivious to the danger That hovers beneath their necks Carelessly enduring the storm. Apathy in purest form The bitter winds blowing Above the barren plain. Crippling and breaking down Endless fucking Grieving Wearing on the flesh. Turning life into a hardened gray. Gray.