quinta-feira, 26 de novembro de 2009

In my bossom

ALthough you may feed yourself on them
You will never taste a tiny bit of my blood
Or even, drink my poised milk.
It isn't the fact of denied truth
that will keep my eyes attached to you
Not even a bit of me
Not even a tiny shape of my glass
you will see.

For many ages, I've been here to stay
Able to lock, close, and dennnied
Your forsaken dreams

I'm your widow
Your whore
But, the slave it's always your own soul to mine
I'm more than the vampire you need
I'm more than the desert you seek
I'm forever the nightmare that craves you into drakness shapes
Until awaken dreams make you see me for real

You wont ever see the colours inside of me
Before I'm forever gone.

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