Ill-Disposed - The Hidden Ache

Bitter modern child, with your dreams tugged around you
The dreams so cold, they are mine
With the prospects they haunt you
My ache is hidden
In read lights I see you, and your hate

About time you found me
Your hand in mine
In dark rooms we're hurting
Through hidden times

All hail to the forgotten past
They took me equally with kings
So you're learning, soon becoming my pupil
In the darkness I'll teach you
I'll make you man

In moistful mornings through the only path