These reckless little thieves that could but behold your command but couldn't question
As there hands are tied with falling goodbyes and sympathy that they swear to taste
No mercy did these strangers receive,
The courage failed and these strangers were killed by the greater pain of lesser fear
They juggled their sense figuring out the tone of their endeavouring love
It turned out to be abuse

No glory or irony for me to seek
Sweet death for you and a rope in hand for your love to hang from a tree
He settled in your arm and soul and his spirit wondered and got lost in the empty sky
Like a thought in this breeze;
No water or love can wash this blood that moves down my spine and rests on my hands
Well no irony did I receive,
I remember he crawled and screamed as the slashes of Blade painted that pain
I do know that pain but there was irony that she receive
Here my soul rests by the crime I never committed or the blood I never tasted
Here I die with no irony printed by this tree

"Her hand was cold, and she cried for the sake of her mysterious unusual love"  said people  
The immortality of her blank face wasn't her at all but was
She the young woman who loved her look ignoring the horrors of her past
They had a family with angry strangers and loved ones
But she was killed by an accident without innocence or guilt
The immortal is the thought dear, that doesn't have a face...

The interior of her heart is tuned with glory
Her spirit lived in the void, screaming in the Halfway mystery

The dark laughs to the forest of tomb
But it wasn't her faith but doom
The chapter turned no fear of death to her existence
But the gigles and talk of the people wasn't farfetched and close enough to **** her

To the voice that alarm my people,
No wonder she bled recalling it,
There is a lust more like an envy roaring for love,  
It is engendered by the echoes in the chamber of her chest.  
To the fires in the forest of memories,  
And the horrors of the forest  dancing and flirting with her soul,
High as the nerve without pulse or false,  drowning in the very soil
The soil so clean as the lines she drew