Dood / Teleurstelling / Fictie
Yesterday she killed a man, seven past three in de early morning, A simply pleasure you canít understand, even if its seems so alluring.
Itís nine oíclock, barely night, again she looking for a kill, Heart keeps throbbing, canít keep quiet, another way to keep her hunger still.
A sweet sensation, a new life I taught her, showed the way, now sheís craving, for each night, murders will occur.
Twelve oíclock, our midnight hour, tonightís the night, we dance our dance. Seems that all the grapes gone sour, turn back now, itís your final chance.
When the monster meets her maker, blood itself has sworn to flow, it ended there, Iím no longer a spectator. As she continues on the path I shown.
Quarter to six, my time has come, lived my live without a sunrise. This shall be my first and last one, my little girl will carry on, as I dieÖ
- The Unwanted Poet -
Gecontroleerd door: Marina