You’re bent
over the grand piano.
Feel my eyes slide over you.
Legs that curve the same as hers could run as quickly too.
My lazy tongue lies low and ready.
It cannot seem to speak its words.
I’d axe it off to shut me up but you’ve already heard the murders have occured.
The path into this heart is littered with corpses and strewn with body parts of
those who came before
And of stronger souls than you.
So just give up.
Take me where they cannot see us and lay me down on coffin rich dirt.
Tonight, I am a Transylvanian.
A taste of you won’t hurt.
Because I am numb to every feeling and stubborn ears will hear no sound.
My last few rounds have left me reeling.
My teeth are on the ground and I’ve taken pound for pound.
So child,
Don’t go getting your hopes up.
|
|
|