I close my eyes and go to sleep
and dream of things that make me weep
I lay in a bed full of sadness
Crying to myself about my illness
A heavy, dying rope calls me fondly
No one is there to walk me kindly.
It reminds me of the butcher's baby.
Tonight is the time to sing my final lullaby.
Sweet baby, go back to sleep
Lying down with ducts that weep
The knife's blows can be pretty sharp
May the angels play their sweet harp
Sweet baby, you will be forgotten
For you have lived a life so rotten
Your own blood betrayed you
There's no time to start through.
Sweet baby, the very last strand of your woven braid.
May all kind evils burn it to aid
There are blood red tears to forever drown.
Until you go down and down.
Sleep my little baby. Sleep dear o' Belle...
YOU ARE READING
Reaper In The Dusk.
Poesía| Compilation of poems about depression｜ I present you the wounds that never showed on me which are deeper than anything that bleeds. This is my only chance to escape free a penalty for my deeds. My head is a very dark place. Which needs to be cared...
