Unloved AngelUnloved angel, whom I must say indeed, you look quite ethereal, though you are considered a weed.
A weed with divine power, and the ability to outthink, you can simply make the flowers wilt and shrink.
A weed with truly hypnotic eyes, that glare and pierce the dead who rise.
Creating truths that cannot be lied, how you kill so many who are frightened inside.
Painting stories and crushing all, watch them run, watch them fall.
And here you are, chained to your sins, farewell dear one, rest well within.
Dissect their cancerous minds, warp them and crush them, turn them into lines.
Shred their veins and slice open their eyes, save the blood that runs for further times.
Snip their ligaments, and slaughter their hearts, for their parts are useless and their souls are tart.
The Lost HomeWelcome to the lost home, where all live inside.
Lost and found, some see you now, some try to hide.
On the walls we keep their secrets, bottled up in jars of mystery.
But now you see us, now you don't, it's all simplistic history.
Come into Room Eleven, where we keep the lost and found.
Walls built of children, see them squirm, they had not one chance, not one single turn.
Will you forgive them, give them time?
Or will you make them ours, maybe even mine?
No, you won't, you'll leave them behind, just like you did when they were yours, not mine.
Such heartless creatures, who learn to lie.
They do not care if you happen to die.
Only focusing on what they like best, they either forget or shun the rest.
They disgust us, they do, with their pathetic souls.
As a matter of fact their souls have left, and all that remains is a simple brain.
A brain that allows them to simply stain.
Stain the planets who were deemed sane.
Alas, the race shall hopefully fall, for nothing lasts forever, nothing at all.
Bestowed Upon Me a CurseBestowed upon me, a curse, yes.
One told of pure blood and a simple white dress.
It is my fault, yes indeed, for I am the one who made her soul bleed.
I sliced and drove my knife in her skin, for it was her fault she begged for one night of sin.
We did not wed for that sort of game, we wed for our love and money, plus fame.
Alas, I'll never regret using that knife, for she was a succubus, not my wife.