These tears flow from the deep wound on my mind,
You show no emotion and your thoughts go unchanged,
The day that you see that what you did to me will be,
Oh such a glorious day.
To deceive would be to achieve the goal that is making its nest in my heart.
So much to pay for a short story but the words you write were always more,
Self-explanatory then the emotions you portray in the love songs of sorrow and despair,
And to care about such wondrous things would mean to,
Shed your wings and become just a bum,
Like I knew you always would,
Is it possible that you could be a demon in the form of sweet memories of good-byes and long cries of pure hell bent emotion?
Oh, why must we lie in our dirt splattered beds with the thought in our heads that this world is put out here to simply over run and the sun is no longer our light but our fright on account of the fact that tonight our hearts won’t overcome this pain that’s inside and to hide and to lie and to cry for our lives and why, oh why?
Please just be over, already, for me, let me see the light taking form in your eyes.
But all the might that’s portrayed is no longer an attribute to making this live of unknowns and slightly demented thoughts and feelings of rotting salvation.
Cremation of humble damnation will be such a wonderful inspiration to this nation of plain and weary passer-bys._|know this has been a pleasant sensation but let me inform you of the present situation.
Your mind has been taken over by rhyming impostors and the cost of this worldly foster emotion filled struggle and you now have been mugged by a beautiful being whom you cherish and decide to perish next to for all of eternity but now you’ll be damned so please keep your hands to yourself.
