Withered (So Cold)

I walk these blatant pathways,
These doors are locked to me,

And though I know I’ve gone astray,
I grace these iron streets,

I am frail,
My hands the color of a dead man’s,

Though I press on,
Damn my determination,
Damn my will to search,

I hesitate before proceeding,
Another golden dawn,

The glimmer not receding,
Yet still I must press on,

I am weak,
My soul the apotheosis of despair,

Though I keep on,
Damn my insistence,
Damn my will to live…