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Lye down upon burnt black pasturesOf blossoming red flowers of fresh cut roses and yellow tulipsThat last no more than a life's hour I tried to keep laughing with themAt myself, and join em'But my throat and mind became dryOnly then, I knew my escape would be suicideDon't slit wrists around vampiresThey'll suck flesh to boneOr leave hair torn and without a combWhile organs and muscles become a new empire of stoneI was going to commit suicide because of themBecause of himBecause of herBecause of meBut now that I can seeWhat I have seenI have realizedLife is too grand to ruinOver my whims of them.
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The Suicide Machine, William Moss
- Langue
- Année de publication
- 2002
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