There is a certain hatred,
Seething deep inside,
a very certain hatred,
that will crawl untill you die,
another drink of water,
another shatterd glass,
another absent father,
and another lovers past,
a dark hole in the city,
grieveing for your wake,
and I'll pay you with pity,
you sultry lying snake,
this darkness thats inside me,
I inherited from you,
a paradox for all of us,
but you can feel it too,
a negative dimension,
of lust and muted bells,
too horribile to mention,
a most figurative realm,
your money is no object,
your voice could make me live,
but lest we ever forget,
without I cannot give,
within this heated starlight,
inside your dying throne,
there is no wrong or right,
and its the decadance I loathe.

 
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