A Crow's Tale
Entitled to the stars above
The cold night shuttters, flutters, flies.
when from the abyss of turmoiled soil
comes a lifeless pulse of vengeance.
I am that force who cries to the skies
with scars etched upon my ivory face
from memory, from pain, from loss of life
and to sadly think it's not my own.
To feel the beast that's stirring within
to have such conflict rage between
sin and virtue, both in itself
is the flood of blood that cleanses.
To hell and back I've come for you
To carve my hollowed valentines name
upon you trembling lips
and watch you drown with pleasure
Though it satisfies
it also kills
though I'm already dead
I'm still dying
