YouĄŻd think I wouldnĄŻt miss you.
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But your persistent voice cuts through me like glass.
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Memories of not so pleasant times soon to kill me.
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Like well-aimed daggers thrown through well-painted hearts.
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But not this time.
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I will remain myself.
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Without influence.
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And without desire.
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Take my hand one last time.
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Like a slaughtered lamb laid to rest.
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And follow me to the burial plot.
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On how we were once filled with promise.
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Let me gaze upon that face one more time.
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To resurrect regret and throw it all away.
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To taste the lips that once invited curiosity.
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But will now be given the chance to kiss the hand of God.
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Take one last breath.
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Make it deep and make it full.
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And I will make it your last.
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Take one last breath.
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Make it deep and make it full.
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And I will make it your last.
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I wonĄŻt be swayed again.
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By your warm breath upon my neck.
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Rather than listen to your voice.
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IĄŻll scream out the last rights of this love.
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A book of pictures will fuel this fire.
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Old letters of lies will become a pyre.
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IĄŻll be standing where we first met.
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When I cast your ashes into the wind.
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My heart has become your shallow grave.
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No one to mourn you on this sad day.
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My heart has become your shallow grave.
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No one to mourn you on this sad day.
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My heart has become your shallow grave.
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No one to mourn you on this sad day.
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-----------------
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Dellamorte, Dellamore
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| If Hope Dies |
