The wind of silence pulls me through,
Blind lights fading into blue.
We fell without a prayer or plea,
In this game — no sanctity.
We’re the last ones who have sinned,
No fear, no grace within.
But still the ache won’t leave our skin,
No joy remains… just the final sin.
The saints are mute behind the glass,
We chose a path no soul should pass.
I see their eyes beneath the veil,
But my reflection is growing pale.
We’re the last ones who have sinned,
Unmoved by fire or the end.
Yet pain still burns beneath the skin,
No joy remains… just the final sin.
No forgiveness — none we seek.
Light is just the shadow’s streak.
The trial came, we did not rise.
Our souls — the sacrifice.
We are the last…
The last to fall…
The last to sin…
No joy remains.
The Final Sin
© Copyright: Власов Вячеслав, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125090803997
Свидетельство о публикации №125090803997
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