I have blood on my fingers,
Mortal wound in my soul;
Death's hounds have picked up my scent,
'Tis time, the bells have started to toll.
Though I know my fate is sealed
I run, I refuse to give up;
There is no hope this wound be healed,
For I have drunk from the poison cup.
I bang my head at every door,
I look into every dark hole;
But nowhere am I welcome,
No place to hide my murderous soul.
Suddenly I see out of the corner of my eye,
A figure, hooded, cloaked,
Approaching me in light foot
I grow pale with fear.
I feel the ice in his breath
He raises his hood, I see my face;
The dagger descends upon me
And I cry "Malediction".
No comments:
Post a Comment