Things that fly,
Things that cry,
These things don't die,
But they surround me,
When you say things about me,
Those things affect me,
You don't see it though,
You are a feeble minded Stout,
And with your horns you stab through my heart,
You fail to see this?..you are not smart,
Can you not see that when you say that word i cry?
Can you not see my eyes..do you want me to die?
Maybe you are blind.. is that the real problem?
Your middle finger is your symbol..your emblem,
This is how you greet me,
Not so discreetly,
I am filled with sorrow,
My heart is what you have borrowed,
Will you return it now..or will you burn it?
To me it doest not matter,
I hope your heart,like mine,is scattered,
Like tiny little pieces of blood expelled from your chest,
I wish i could tell you that you're not doing your best,
But you know what you are doing,
Breaking hearts is what you do best, you are not fooling,
You have cruel intent,
And not even with my cries is that purport bent,
I don't need you though, let me cry,
Let me die,
Then let me fly.
