The blood that spills upon these weary hands
Is but a taste of what may come to be.
I know, too well, that no one understands
All of the racing thoughts inside of me.
One thought of happiness is replaced by
Ten other thoughts of pain and misery
Only to follow the question why
Must I live in this endless agony?
I know I am not wanted in this life
A disowned, a prodigal.
Because all of my suspicions came true
When those I love stabbed my heart
with knives made out of ivory,
Of betrayal as they hunt and pursue,
The soul in which my spirit breathes.
But time will come when I will find a way
To get revenge and take this hurt away.
