Writhing unconsolably,
The pain of truth grows stronger,
Murder is the key,
In this game of love.
One single stab,
The suffering left behind,
Heart still, muscles taught,
To offer freedom, the soul of a dove.
But what about my soul?
Bound by the chains of grief,
Entrapped in caged guilt,
Resentment bounds my mind.
Bitter death,
Sweet, merciful murder
Your the victim of an endless checkmate,
Of course it is the game of love |
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