Make Them Suffer Fireworks

So long, goodbye

Because tonight I think I’m ready to go

And so I’m praying you’re still laying there and waiting when I’m finally home

I had to do this for me, because it’s all I know

This time I’ll make things right

Come bring your flames, take my hand

We’ll together watch it burn

We’re going to burn it to the ground

And we’ll be surfing on the sun

Let’s see them try and stop us now

Let’s watch them burn

(When we’re through)

Trace it back, we’ll remember who we used to be

(When we’re through)

Don’t hold back, don’t forget that we meant to be

We’ll both together watch it burn

We’ll both together watch it burn

So hoist those sails we’re headed east

If there’s a chance

That when we’re through they’ll send me home

This time I’ll make things right

Come bring your flames, take my hand

We’ll together watch it burn

We’re going to burn it to the ground

And we’ll be surfing on the sun

Let’s see them try and stop us now

Let’s watch them burn

(When we’re through)

All of the radiant flames reflecting off of my face

And streaming down from my cheeks, they’ll dance the night away

(When we’re through)

We’ll watch the fireworks

I had to do this for me, because it’s all that I know

If there’s even just a chance

That when we’re through they’ll send me home

Make Them Suffer Summoning Storms

the fields, dead and silent begin to rise up from the earth

with their twisted appendages, suffocating all but myself.

A void of my own, floating in the clutches of my hand where I may pull at the

strings

of time and torment those who constantly dig and claw at the back my skull.

Summoning Storms. Wishing these days will pass, Tearing the earth apart.

Reweaving the threads of time so that they can shelter these malformations of

mine.

Tear the fucking earth apart

Tormented and frail, I begin to destroy your dreams. one by one.

I am the destroyer of dreams.

swallowing death, the sky cracks open and begins to flood,

washing away my fears, I plunge into an eternal darkness.

in the pitch black depths, I drown.

I wait for nothing and time is my witness. Time is my witness.

A void of my own, floating in the clutches of my hand where I may pull at the

strings

of time and torment those who constantly dig and claw at the back my skull.

Summoning Storms. Wishing these days will pass, Tearing the earth apart.

Reweaving the threads of time so that they can shelter these malformations of

mine.

I call forth the sleepless skies

herding forth the endless nights

summoning storms to shatter the absent minds

show the world the pain and suffering my eyes have seen

Make Them Suffer Chronicles

Fear my name, in the dead of the night for I am reborn of flame.

You will feel my wrath, I will destroy all things that lay in my path

It’s raining relentlessly, and the last little flickering flame which I kindled and cared for so dearly is beginning to wither and fade. Now here I tend, in darkness. Scrawling onto tattered pages you once held so close. Sleep has overtaken us, and if it weren’t for these binds I would float away.

Fear my name, In the dead of the night.

My burden is bound by tales I wrote, these have been the Chronicles of Woe.

Burn down the forests. No longer are they my home.

Morrow, you cursed them, or so it reads in the Chronicles of Woe.

Now feel my wrath.

Tear down the skies.

Feel my wrath, my hatred engulfs me, destroying your dreams.

Feel my wrath, I’ll bide my time and burn you alive.

Feel my wrath. My vengeance shall be swift, at my burning hand,

The flames from my fingertips dwindle and cheer, at the torment of man.

Tear down the fucking skies.

Can you feel the surge of hatred from my torment.

I burdened your stories, you left for me dead and cursed the forest.

My name is forever echoed throughout the wastes, and my malevolence is eating my heart out.

Should you hear it,

Fear my name, in the dead of the night for I am reborn of flame. You will feel my wrath, I will destroy all things that lay in my path

I’ve burdened your stories, your codex of sorrow and lies.

I relinquish this duty, take back what once you kept so safe.

Fear my name, In the dead of the night.

I burden no longer the tales I wrote, take of me these Chronicles of Woe.

Burn down the forests. No longer are they my home.

Morrow, you cursed them, or so it reads in the Chronicles of Woe.

Fear my name, In the dead of the night.

I burden no longer the tales I wrote, take of me these Chronicles of Woe.

Fear my name, In the dead of the night.

I burden no longer the tales I wrote.

These are the Chronicles of Woe.

Make Them Suffer Power Overwhelming

Reborn into a plain renowned for ancient powers.

Reformed by alchemy and ways of age-old chemistry.

And with these blades I’m going to paint the town.

A prototype this strength was always in me.

It took a new plain to unlock beyond skin deep.

This is me without constraints or bounds;

you say that’s what it’s about…

No it’s not me, I’m honoured but save the crown.

I think I want out, this isn’t what I’m about.

No it’s not me, I’m worried I’ll paint the town.

It’s Power Overwhelming.

You’re going to see less of me.

All the things that you confessed to me,

our faith in one another; rest in peace.

Now you want to be left alone.

This was never to be set in stone.

Which you would’ve known, if you would check your phone.

Now I’m alive,

I’ve been made your device.

So put me on your shelf.

Put me on your shelf, with your most prized possessions.

So put me on your shelf. Somehow I’ve told myself

I was reborn into a plain renowned for ancient powers.

Reformed by alchemy and ways of age-old chemistry.

And with these blades I’m going to paint the town.

A prototype this strength was always in me.

It took a new plain to unlock beyond skin deep.

This is me without constraints or bounds;

you say that’s what it’s about…

No it’s not me, I’m honoured but save the crown.

I think I want out, this isn’t what I’m about.

No it’s not me, I’m worried I’ll paint the town.

It’s Power Overwhelming.

Make Them Suffer Elegies

I would have showed you the world as it was in my dreams. I would have dropped everything.

And for those nights when we wept for the moon, I would have died for the spring.

I found myself at the roots of the elms, singing songs to the birds and wishing this day would never end.

But it did.

These dreams came cascading down in a stream of fond memories and lost hope, and at the end of it all.

At the end of it all is only a teardrop to remember you by.

A keepsake from the birds, an elegy for what we could have shared.

These words will last forever;

I’ll dream our memories away just to make you feel something for me again.

These words will last forever;

I’ll dream our memories away just to make you hurt. Just to make you feel my pain.

There is a warmth from the earth, and the touch of my fingertips are like droplets, making ripples on the surface.

I cherish the moment my heart sank to the floor of the ocean.

We could have been so much more,

We could have laughed, and cried, and dreamed our nights away.

So much more, So much more.

I’ll keep singing songs to the birds until you return, and for every time I

lost myself there is a warmth from the earth, and the touch of my fingertips are like droplets, making ripples on the surface.

At the end of it all is only a teardrop to remember you by.

A keepsake from the birds, an elegy for what we could have shared.

These words will last forever;

I’ll dream our memories away just to make you feel something for me again.

These words will last forever;

I’ll dream our memories away just to make you hurt. Just to make you feel my pain.

Make Them Suffer Marionette

Cheer the sad puppeteer,

Who constantly tugs as he snickers and sneers.

Frantically wiping his tears.

I’m always dancing in tandem with his teardrops so pained.

To the weeping; I shamefully lend out my frame.

Contortedly pulled to the centre of stage.

A re-enactment of his tragedy. Again and again.

Some abstracted form of attraction. Over and over again.

A marionette, I play my part.

The crowd have all gone, but the show must go on. I play my part.

Dance to the beat of his tears.

His story had chilled me, haunting my guilty ways.

He wept for days over a picture frame;

scrawling to pages, his play.

A marionette, I play my part.

The crowd have all gone, but the show must go on. I play my part.

Dance to the beat of his tears.

I watched his comfort turn to pain as he scowled his reflection.

How long had he been locked away? Had it turned him insane?

“Shatter the frame. It mirrors my pain. It’s not me it’s not me, I say.”

A reflection of age. “Watch me shatter and break.”

“This world was never meant for me, Keep me locked away.

This world was never meant for me. The show must go on.”

The sad puppeteer he will stay.

Make Them Suffer Dead Plains

Above these fallow plains of salt and wires,

form the droplets that would land and dehydrate the soil.

And so sounds the song, with howls and shrieking;

A gift from this earth’s keeper, uncontrollably weeping.

And I’m thinking that she must’ve forgotten where she left me last.

And it’s starting to become a real problem, when I’m living in the

Dead Plains. It’s a paradox.

Dead Plains. Her tears turn to salt.

Dead Plains. Now she cries for her friend, but it’s the sadness in her heart in which she’s grown to depend.

Life is slipping, and it’s starting to feel as if oxygen is thinning.

There goes the sound from where the clouds are,

so block your ears because her song is getting louder.

I guess she’s getting closer, maybe she wanted some closure.

But she’s left me in the

Dead Plains. It’s a paradox.

Dead Plains. Now her tears turn to salt.

Dead Plains. Now she cries for her friend, but it’s the sadness in her heart in which she’s grown to depend.

And I’m thinking that she must’ve forgotten where she left me last.

I guess she’s getting closer, maybe she wanted some closure.

Maybe she wanted some.

But she’ll never let me out.

No, she’ll never let me out.

Help somebody, anybody? Anybody?

No, she’ll never let me out.

Guess I’m stuck living in the Dead Plains.

Make Them Suffer Scraping The Barrel

This is not a means to an ending.

Just a broken and twisted path,

Foreboding the droning tasks

That face the shell of a shattered man.

The shell of a shattered man.

Dripping. Incessant dripping won’t stop.

Not for the machines that bellow through the corridors.

Nor for the joy and wonder from my mind,

That oozes, pools and weeps through every orifice of mine.

Patch it, plug it, dry it. Scramble and claw for the fragments that once were.

Patch it, plug it, dry it. Piece it back together.

Patch it, plug it, dry it. Scramble and claw for the fragments that once were.

Patch it, plug it, dry it. Piece it back together.

Now I’m scraping the barrel.

And now I’m scraping the barrel.

Is there something I must’ve just missed along the way;

A piece of me I somehow left behind, and lost between the days?

And now I’m scraping the barrel.

Scrape and rake my life away. Light grows dimmer every day, repressed dreams confide in me.

Taste and feel. Erase the years. Another one down the hatch.

Patch it, plug it, dry it. Scramble and claw for the fragments that once were.

Patch it, plug it, dry it. Piece it back together.

Patch it, plug it, dry it. Scramble and claw for the fragments that once were.

Patch it, plug it, dry it. Piece it back together.

This is not a means to an ending.

Just a broken and twisted path,

Foreboding the droning tasks

That face the shell of a shattered man.

The shell of a shattered man.

Bottoms up, another one down the hatch.

Bottoms up, another one down the hatch.

Make Them Suffer Maelstrom

Beyond these forgotten shores of baleful unrelenting torture.

The sky has shattered, pouring its tears into oblivion and wishing away its unending paradox, as it crumbles into exile, piece by piece.

plunged into darkness by the undertow of the Maelstrom.

slowly, piece by piece, forever forgotten.

Take me away from here.

I will slip away, watch me disapear.

The Maelstrom consumes me.

An eternity frozen in time.

Pulled beneath the deepest depths

Where I was always meant to be, forever lost.

I’ve found my home

far from the grips of time

with the faces of desertion

wandering the depths of expulsion

With the faces of desertion, far from the grips of time, I have found my home.

I’ve found my home, where no light can reach and the only sounds are those soft whispers that no one else can hear.

Comforting me. I’ll smile my way away to my darkest days.

Beyond these forgotten shores of endless sadness and torturous sorrow.

The sky has shattered, crying into constant uncertainty and wishing away its perpetual torment, as it crumbles into exile, piece by piece.

plunged into darkness by the undertow of the Maelstrom.

forgotten piece by piece, forever and ever.

Take me away from here.

I will slip away, watch me disapear

The Maelstrom consumes me.

An eternity frozen in time.

I’ve found my home, beneath the depths.

I’ve found my home, where I can dream these days away.

It was perfect from the first day, we stood and watched as the ocean opened up and swallowed the sun.

Swallowed the sun.

Make Them Suffer The First Movement

There’s a voice in the wind so familiar it sings him to sleep,

and yet it’s melody’s so terribly empty.

So the boy drops his pin and wind section instruments cling to the beat,

and now together they ascend to an ending.

It was a beautiful song, the first of many to come.

But meant the start of a bond, precious only to one.

But the question remained and it plagued the boy’s conscience for days.

Who was this beautiful voice he kept hearing?

So he sat and he waited so patiently.

Aching to say that it was of her he’d been dreaming.

It was a beautiful song, the first of many to come.

But meant the start of a bond, precious only to one.

Patience, for she’s heard you and it’s only a matter of time.

She’s on her way to come get you and you’re going to be just fine.

She pulled up at the street lights.

“Get in we’re going for a ride. The walk’s too long, you’ll get there in half the time if you take a seat on the shotgun side.”

She’s in the palm of your hand.

It was a beautiful song, the first of many to come.

But meant the start of a bond, precious only to one.

He sat and he gazed to the driver’s seat, somehow afraid.

Now it’s the chance you’ve been waiting.

Come now boy, at some point you would have to be brave.

You should trust in yourself at least once in a while,

if not today…

And now she’s driving in circles.

She’s in the palm of your hand.

It’s now. Don’t skip on your chance.

It’s time. Don’t skip on your chance.

But what the future holds no one knows…