Lust Isn't Love For Greed Isn't Good.
Our Wrath Now Our Reaper And Misunderstood.
Gluttony Feel Tired But Sloth Yet Sleep.
On Envy Of The Living Now In Pride We Weep.
Sing Out Our Anthem But Breathes Not Harmony.
The Reaper Slash Our Vocal Cords For
Airs All That We Need.
YOU ARE READING
Figure 8.
PoetryI Figured If I Did This. I Could Figure Out Whats Next. My Fingers Dance The Figure 8. Thats How I'll Start This Mess.
