Dark and blood-stained chambers, places worthy of death
And where living meets hell.
Now you are at the mercy of purgatory,
Running from the things you left behind or
Locked up inside yourself forever.
Chasing after deformed fantasies that scar your mind like
Rotting butterflies, wings fringed with decay, stirring up
New nightmares from all the things you once held close,
She's born of a wish
But made out of darkness.