Song of The Beaten
Nor have i been my own.
For these words i am about to write,
Are no more than another late night thought.
Since these eyes can shed another tears,
Yet my heart has stopped beating.
Burning candles are no flames,
Open wounds are no blood,
Real life is no vacancy.
You will no longer see this eyes haunting the halls,
Now that they are closed for good.
And that day they will all cheer three times for the dead,
A toast for my foes who stabbed me in the orient express.
Here lies the body of the ashes,
May they rot in hell.
I am sorry.