The Death Of A Child

Here she lies a pretty bud
Lately made of flesh and blood

Here she died without a word
Lying still completely unheard

Who are we to say we breath
When we take our swords and sheath

Dive it deep into your skin
This is why we always win

No regret comes to us
As we stare at your legs made of puss

She never got to see herself bloom
Waking up in her room

Now I sit no more hunger
For praying on the younger

Here she lies a pretty bud
Washed away in the morning’s flood