01/11/2012 20:23

When the last drop of life trickles from her mouth,
When her eyes glass over and my sanity runs thin,
Hold on tightly to the martyr inside of you,
Suffering shall begin, my pretty bird.
For the beast is yet to escape the walls of flesh,
Bedded inside this tangled web of displeasure.
For justice shall be served as a crimson wine,
From your very own fountain.