Where the river runs red,
no one sleeps, but the dead,
with their eyes open wide,
they know nothing of pride,
in this land, despair reigns,
it has people in chains,
but the world doesn’t care,
it doesn’t know that it’s there,
for what it’s made this land feel,
it doesn’t believe to be real.
In the place where the red river flows,
it is only those,
that have lived there,
who can know,
why? People often come, but never go,
as where the river runs red,
all the people are dead.
When the shadow falls,
across your face,
and the crumbling walls,
leave only darkening dust in your place,
there’ll be no one left who recalls,
your realisation, you won’t fall with grace.
Instead you’ll die by your own hand,
now that you’ve stumbled across this land,
and something you thought was never true,
you discover has just happened to you.
So how does it feel to be lower than low?
when the pain makes life go so slow,
and you hide all the emotions you cannot show,
knowing things you thought you’d never know.
You ask God why me?
this wasn’t how my life was supposed to be,
it wasn’t meant to end like this,
being eaten up, drowned or free-falling in to the abyss.
So unless you’ve found yourself in this land,
please don’t pretend that you understand,
you won’t share in my fate,
so chances are that you’re not my mate,
for I shall meet my end,
when my body floats around the red riverbend.
Though please don’t look to visit,
because nothing’s what it seems, is it?