~nekochan~
05-17-2009, 08:22 PM
The bells
The bells are especially loud today
Maybe a church or a wedding
Maybe it's a...
A pool of blood lies beneath the shadows
Now there is meaning
There is vengeance
Cries of the cicadas
Screams of the victim
Slashing of the blade
Vengeance is mine, but why do I feel no satisfaction?
The source of darkness, which rots the mind and taints the soul
was brought into the light or the depths of hell
The bells are ringing to the point where even I feel sorrow
He walked the path of blood and violence
And now he has paid with his life
The punishment's been made by my hands
but the guilt does not dissipate as I watch the tears shed for him
There is peace and there is sorrow
These feelings which overlap one another
Crossing the line between my soul and his
I bear no forgiveness, nor pity or regret
but hatred and bitterness and guilt...
For what reason I wonder?
I know not why death is brought upon
Twelve deaths then another
Thirteen
No good comes from killing
There is only tears and bloodshed
These hands which stained with blood now
will never wash off, this I know
This is murder, we both fated for hell
Murder...No good comes from it
Ever....
I know this now...
Though it's far too late but never over
"Murder...."
The bells are especially loud today
Maybe a church or a wedding
Maybe it's a...
A pool of blood lies beneath the shadows
Now there is meaning
There is vengeance
Cries of the cicadas
Screams of the victim
Slashing of the blade
Vengeance is mine, but why do I feel no satisfaction?
The source of darkness, which rots the mind and taints the soul
was brought into the light or the depths of hell
The bells are ringing to the point where even I feel sorrow
He walked the path of blood and violence
And now he has paid with his life
The punishment's been made by my hands
but the guilt does not dissipate as I watch the tears shed for him
There is peace and there is sorrow
These feelings which overlap one another
Crossing the line between my soul and his
I bear no forgiveness, nor pity or regret
but hatred and bitterness and guilt...
For what reason I wonder?
I know not why death is brought upon
Twelve deaths then another
Thirteen
No good comes from killing
There is only tears and bloodshed
These hands which stained with blood now
will never wash off, this I know
This is murder, we both fated for hell
Murder...No good comes from it
Ever....
I know this now...
Though it's far too late but never over
"Murder...."