Abandoned by fate, marked as a stranger,

Ever expanding solitude, followed by anger.

Disillusioned with my heart, sold my karma to the keeper,

Without my broken heart, I'm not myself, and you're not either.

Can I escape this torturous dread that sneaks up inside my head,

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Making me question what part is dead, and how much of me is lead.

I want to revive our connection-- but every time we talk I feel a strain on reception.

The strain of disillusion, the strain of pain and the strain of evil's intrusion.

- Velgason