ALBUM REVIEW: Pijn – From Low Beams Of Hope
Each day, time drops a tiny death at your door.
Each day, time drops a tiny death at your door.
Unsteady hand wielding a final arrow.
Mumble quietly as we walk home / ‘I am tired of being alone.
The words I need are on the tip of my tongue, I can see it – make it happen – wait and see.
Rain keeps beating on the rooftop, pouring into death.
I was robbed of my mask in some engine of Hell.
Follow these cries.
Ode to the blue of your mind, I can’t follow.
The curdling cowards, the crackle of china.