Stone sour, cold
bringing forth nothingness.
Twas death I had forebode,
reluctantly ringing in my ears
the cries of death and despair.
I felt it all around me;
No oxygen but plenty of air.
Light-headed and woozy,
Your Cyanide kills quickly,
intoxicating me slowly,
Suffocating me, abruptly.
Weaker than before,
my last breath approaching;
I thought you loved me, but
Your Cyanide killed me.
