Deep, dark, callous and cold,
Filled with venom and atter,
Hideous enough not to behold,
Habitual of misery and flatter.
That's how commoners describe 'it'.
It's my heart,
A demon's heart.
Brimming with hate and rage,
Devoid of kindness and affection,
A bane of evil, a curse of mage,
Deserves nothing but rejection.
That's how nobles describe 'it'.
'It's' my heart,
A demon's heart.
Built with detest, furnished with loathe,
Painted with distrust, carved with malice,
Helpless and bounded by a strange oath,
Awful, like a toxin filled chalise.
That's how saints describe 'it'.
'It's' my heart,
A demon's heart.
Shattered, sad, strong and sincere,
Needs no criticism,
But tender love and care,
To heal and surpass mysticism.
That's how my angel describes 'it'
And 'it's' still the same.
'It's' my heart,
A demon's heart.
