I shall forever be damned to haunt these hills as the hermit of eternity. I am pained by this darkness, and the echos of silence. These lyrics, fuck this song... speaks volumes about my distorted reality, my myth.
I exist for no one. No one to sleep in on Sunday afternoons with, nothing but the sound of the rain overhead. No one to tell me stories in the fire, sipping wine and lost in the leather bounds of grand adventures. Star gazing, mapping out dreams of future promises.
This Byronic hero does not exist, just as I do not. I merely breathe, but I do not exist. I hear him, somewhere, I hear him, feel him, there is a familiar taste, among strangers ... alas he too runs to hide from me as well.
If eyes are the windows to ones soul, please enlighten me and tell me what you see, what do you see in one who does not have a soul?
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