I put my fist to the page
Stick one foot in the grave,
Die a little each night
Until i find you.
My life.
My glory.
My epitaph.
It's taking so much effort just to breathe.
Break me.
Rape me.
Blame me.
The dead can't point any fingers...
Dire epilogues
Screamed by mute prophets,
Who had a taste of life
But they lost it;
Half-hearted syllables
Unheard prayers
For the souls of the damned.
Muttered excuses
Weaving the mask of jealousy.
Veil my face
for
mourning,
So they can't see me laugh
At
your
funeral.
Taking back the peices of my life
Clutched in your cold dead hands,
Trying to find holes big enough to fit
All you took from me.
My life.
My glory.
My epitaph.
It's taking so much effort just to breathe.
Break me.
Rape me.
Save me.
The dead can't point any fingers...
I'd like to see you try
to put the blame
on
me
this time.
Copyright 2005 weheldhandsattheendoftheworld
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