The burns of temptation
dwell in my soul.
I am the mark of the scorned.
When put against the wall accept the thought of defeat.
I am not the fighter, but the fighters sword
I cut into the souls of the scorned.
I slash and back lash like whiplash
and I hurt the ones that are closest to me,
or the furthest from my depths.
Black is the color of the emptines inside.
I hide.
God give me the strenght to over the impossible
for it is possible that I am destined to die young.
I want her to love the darkness.
I want her to hate my iniquity.
She loves, only the light.
Wisdom that is.
I hear her calls and I
want her voice.
She sings the most beautiful melody
in the voices angels.
Me?
Yet a demon, with a dream.
A moment before the end.
We choose our fate,
temptation speaks evil words to wisdom
and she is torn apart by the damnation of the spoken word.
Listen.
For we are lost and we find nothing but
curves and twists in this twisted road of blackness.
No positive aim.
I want to be accepted in the eyes of the Lord.
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