A bullet for pretty boy, how appropriate, that when your hearts stops beating you do confess. A knife still clenched in that hateful fist, what did you truly intend?
The white dove didn't fall into your hands for you to kill it, Your words spill from your chest in scarlet sentences, slipping farther into death . You wore wings of black wax but they have been Burt away, by your own self consuming hate. An angel that found the right to descend.
Standing on deck with the thieves, liars, beggars, and damned, it's no wonder the sea's overtook you and you fell to their strength. the hounds closed in but they were to late, you yourself designed that fate. Crawling down that rode so dark so endless ,with serpents on your back, shackles around your wrists. Begging pathetically for the suns humble kiss.
Grin and bare it, skeleton man, you have no place in this world, but i think you knew that.
