Better to know
The worth of things
Rather than their cost
And never suffer the
Consequence
Of losing what
Can’t be lost

Evil deeds
Have never really changed
Most have served the same master
But, love can break
The tyrant’s chains
As it turns the heart ever faster

What sort of wretch am I?
Who curses God from where I lie
When I want to sing
I want to cry
But my arid throat’s too dry
To utter anything but
“What sort of wretch am I?”

War is best served by youth
For it has not yet
Had the time
To perish the thought of dying

There were crows in my dreams
Before my father died
They became the haunt of me
With the stare of their steely eyes
I bowed my head and prayed each night
Before the Grace above
To rid my dreams of the crows
And see instead a dove

Some fear weakness
More than dying
Some would die
Before found crying
They’d rather drink
Than face their fear
And God forbid
They shed a tear

Please don't take a picture
that you'll only leave behind
Don't bother with the memory
or keeping me in mind
I'd rather not be there
if you are never going to care
So, please don't take a picture
if you would be so kind