Stompbox

The last hope fades away, like sand crumbling through my fingers. Once more, I'm left in the cold, reminding myself from tales once told. Guilt eats my head. I'm not sinking in self-pity, the beast won't crawl over my head, banging my fists against walls of frustration, stomping my feet 'till the creature is dead. Stomp this beast dead. Heavy are the tombs I must live to bury my guilt in the womb of mother nature. Addicted to denial. Blinded by despair, the beast that steels my light will bleed. Been tortured for so long, this blood will silence my greed. I don't need your help, gotta slay this beast myself, to wash myself in innocence and ban the guilt out of my head