Crimson - 3 mins writing
August 7, 2007
Waxy floors and tinted windows,
Cleaner than it should be,
Once again, the flight is taken,
The pry opens are constricted,
Who’s fingermarks traced the tombstones,
So dainty,
So frail,
The lullabies trail.
Who’s kisses can kill,
The fragile consumers,
The weak bastards,
Pleading for freedom.
The curtains are drawn,
As the candle is lit,
Can they see that glimmer shine,
In her eyes,
Once more,
They seek,
Forsaken revenge,
Will they live to see tomorrow?
Oh…
Who’s traces of weep,
Took flight to early December?
Oh…
Who’s vengeance so sleek,
Could murder all dead ones alive?
Can you see the fingernail,
Scraping as weapon,
As fiery death it takes,
The stance that it takes,
The level which breaks them,
Will they live to see tomorrow?
