On a mortuary table
When I'm alone my thought turn to death Not mine but yours I see you lying on the table White, flaccid, pallid, uninteresting But I'm not crying, 'cos I've icicles in my heart I didn't see you as living but As a living hell Cold death becomes you well The only pain I feel is when I'm pierced by Icicles in my heart. Written December 2nd, 2001 © on Dec 01 2001 11:09 PM PST 0 • 1
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"When I'm alone my thought turn to death..."