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Her tears still spilling out of my eyes
The way the blood spilled out of my thighs.
The pain they’ll keep feeling
Pours with my blood still dripping.
I feel them all –
Bullets breaking through my wall.
Sadness the most
Is what floods my coast.
A gift from God, Lord on high,
Whispers across me like a sigh.
This gift a curse behind a masque;
Why is it mine? I have to ask.
This gift only grows stronger and stronger,
I cannot bare this curse any longer.
Prayer cannot fulfill –
Never has and it never will.
Even though I can’t stop their feeling,
I can still stop my bleeding.
And maybe my scars will fade
If I don’t free their pain with my blade.
Her tears will spill out of my eyes,
But the blood shan’t spill out of my thighs.
The pain they’re feeling
Will no longer, in blood, be bleeding.
I’ll feel them all –
Their bullets breaking through my wall.
And their sadness, the most,
Will still flood my coast.
This “gift” – a curse behind a masque,
Why is it mine? I’ll still ask.
As this curse grows stronger and stronger,
I’ll have to bare this gift a little bit loner.