We lurk within the shadows,
often sought but never seen.
Through the centuries of darkness,
and the slaughters in-between.
I've sacrificed a thousand souls,
but could not change their fate.
And though I've begged to save them all,
a thousand others wait.
Each night we meet could be our last,
if this tortured soul should bane.
Then passion-fire turns merciless,
your pleasure turns to pain.
A tainted tear will fall for you,
as you fight to keep afloat.
But I'll hold you like a frightened child,
before ripping out your throat.
Your blood will baptize once again,
this cursed Prince of Pain.
Spewing spills like the River Styx,
flowing down my mane.
And when the sun reflects my deeds,
and daybreak casts my shame.
Again I face the stench of guilt of death,
all without a name.
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Λϯσɳeɱeɳϯs σf a βleeɗiɳg Ϣrisϯ
Maybe I want the attention. Maybe I just love to spite. Or maybe I really just want to die…
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