Love is fickle. Once there was a boy that died inside. Therefore He killed a dame But he used his host And in turn the love saved his man. He brought a silver barrel onto the host's head The shot rang loud in the air. "Do you hate me?" the lost lover asked his savior. As the soul left the lover's body The last words to be muttered to the poor, dying angel
Fear is cruel.
Mind over matter
is on what madness fuels.
Simplicity is in greatness.
Greatness is in march
marching on eternally
Eternally hard as starch.
Brought then alive by a friend.
His murderer
Torturer
Mad Breaker
He was jealous of this new friend.
He tortured more.
he didn't seek fame
Just a friend to love him for who he is.
Tortured his love the most
And told him he loved him, no matter the torturer's dread.
The love's eyes draining out its sadistic share.
"No, I could never hate you," the savior told his lover.
And the savior cried his tears.
The sky looked much more cloudy
and the earth was left with fears.
Still rings in the air.
"Don't worry about it Cry."
At the last stroke of hair.
