A/N: this chapter will be modified to include HBP. I don't think that it'll change much… anyways I want to bitch about my day… but I won't… I'll wait for some unfortunate poll caller to phone for that.

Chapter Two

Hypocrites

Your messiah was never mine x10

Hypocrites!

Weeping rows of Jeremiah

Drops of blood drip off your medals

Representing all our tears

in a ring of burning metal

How you wanna be, what you gonna say

it doesn't bother me, who ya gonna pay

Sorcerers and Satan's come

To define the what and why

People travel across this earth

Over water, land, and sky

How you wanna be, what you gonna say

it doesn't bother me, who ya gonna pay

Pay the ferryman, pay the fucking driver

Pay the preachers and pay the fucking liars

Pay the bitches they're touching on they're dates, stand by

I'm not gonna pay it's already mine

Hypocrites

I'm gonna do it blind

Hypocrites

I'm gonna do it blind

Hypocrites

I'm gonna do it blind

Hypocrites

Your messiah was never mine

Weeping rows of Jeremiah

Purity unlike no other

Offers help to those who need it

Don't forget care to the brother

How you wanna be, what you gonna say it

Doesn't bother me, who ya gonna pay

Little old lady at home

Writing out a check to send

It's all the money that she owns

She believes the world might end

How you wanna be, what you gonna say it

Doesn't bother me, who ya gonna pay

Pay the ferryman, pay the fucking driver

Pay the preachers and pay the fucking liars

Pay the bitches they're touching on they're dates, stand by

I'm not gonna pay it's already mine

Hypocrites

I'm gonna do it blind

Hypocrites

I'm gonna do it blind

Hypocrites

I'm gonna do it blind

Hypocrites

Your messiah was never mine

Hypocrites!

Pay the ferryman, pay the fucking driver

Pay the preachers and pay the fucking liars

Pay the bitches they're touching on their dates, stand by

I'm not gonna pay it's already mine

Hypocrites! x4

Korn

It's like a horror dream. All of this hatred he feels and loathing for everything he touches.

When he had apparated to his Safe Spot and tried to calm down for all the adrenaline and hatred that was coursing through his veins. With bated breath and a headache. He didn't really know what he had just done only that he liked what he had done.

Death was finding itself stained on his hands. It was sweet and bitter with the right amount of disgust.

It was like a bad dream. Only one of the things that this dark figure would never even dream of doing had been done. It startled him for a moment as he tried to calm down his thoughts.

All he could really remember was the feeling of hate towards both the man who saved his life and the boy who couldn't ever let him alone.

It has been a feeling that has followed this man since the beginning of his adolescence. The pure, unadulterated resentment that never wavered.

It doesn't matter that perhaps the boy felt the same way. What mattered was all the resentment and the lack of fulfillment that the old man had put him through. What mattered was that this same old man had decided to play with his life again.

What mattered was that this old man didn't give a shit about him because he was suppose to be strong and surly all of the time.

Cold anger makes the deadliest of allies.

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Black onyx. The stone is precious. People have killed for it simply for both the vulgarness and value.

Few have been given away.

This one was.

Yet like a rock it refused to break. Refused to give into the hell that surrounded itself. One could blame society for the misgivings of this damned.

But what would be the point?

There are people who are going to say that they suspected all along when no such thing was true. Trust the old for they are wise.

What a load of shit.

Severus Snape knows who the truly wise are. They are the ones who know what being tired is and what exhaustion becomes.

It's like the difference between a housewife whose walked about 12 miles in one day. If you let her alone she'll be tired, if you ask her then she's exhausted. Yet ask a man whose about to be crucified, he won't tell you because the exhaustion has settled in…

Black Onyx knows what it means to be tired. Yet for a vast majority of his rather obtuse life he has also known the brink of exhaustion. It should bother him at least just a little… but the knowledge is different than actually knowing. Sort of like when he watched Regulus Black slowly go to the exhaustion.

It resulted in death. A wanted death… but Severus doesn't want to die. It's a vulnerability that the Black Onyx can't go to… too … too… blind.

It is cold outside.

Yet Black Onyx loves the cold. It makes it so that the pain he feels becomes his only warmth. In the same way that those imbeciles use that damned butterbeer to warm themselves.

A person as closed and calculated, as Severus Snape does not indulge in such materialistic things. Its like the way that one expects the blind to appreciate just the classical music of Bach… or the deaf to appraise paintings with religious fanaticism.

No, the pain is warm and full of passion. Just as the repugnant odours of potions are passionate. It would be a mistake to say that they are the only passion in the life of Severus Snape, Black Onyx.

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"Papa, what is this?"

"…Where's your Mother…"

That was the voice that somehow came to him in the worst of times. The way that it attacked him reminding Snape that it wasn't so implausible for him to have become as he has.

But tonight in this insistent calm of twilight is not the time to think of it. After all it only serves to drive one insane with guilt, as a wise old fool once said… yet he is no fool any longer…

Snape throws his head back letting out a bark of laughter. it alarms a group of alley-cats but other than that nothing happens.

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The Dark Lord.

Is there anyone whose presence commands one to bow and hope to have never been conceived.

Black Onyx.

It seems like an alter ego way to think of oneself sometimes.

Just like how Half Blood Prince seemed that Once Upon a Time Ago.

If one were honest with oneself, they would realize how tedious it all seems… especially for one who has sailed on a broken ship for so long. It being the entire goodness… what's the point on going on with it anymore. Its redundant and rather revolting.

At least to Severus Snape…

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The night is cold. Desolate and depressing.

Oh woe is thy heart…

Enough of these thoughts…

There's a little boy with blonde hair waiting to be told to bow before a monster. There's a little prick with emerald eyes waiting with a death sentence. There's a grave with the body of an old man who never could love the onyx frozen in ice waiting for some sort of penance.

The hooded man looks up to the sky. With a mean smirk curling on his thin lips.

But we won't give any.