The people chatter about my soul but couldn't see me dead
I had currency without having a single blood drop by my armor
The thickness of my blood was Humorous for very soil where my grave lied
My heart was stuck  by this symphony named  Dulori
But no love I could recall her senses or tongue could  let loose
A woman who made me bled because she thinks I slayed her

A fine old village with a family but no answer to a phase
The abuse is the only refinement her endeavors could ever dream
A radical thing about her heart  was doomed with a shadow without a glance
I loved the sense of her feel that I never touched completely
A love that wasn't full of clouds or breeze that I adore
But struggle of the pain crawled to very eye of me
Telling me to never stop loving her
Here I rest, a poet romanticizing a single word she quoted
"No...."(with no desire, dulori)

To the tree that rest on its history
Will have its blood wasted
No good can happen to things with their horcrux not visible to perceive
She the young that could only give me gains and symphony of life I believe
But it was a boring woman, unbearable but a goblet of my mysteries
No wonder I saw the goblet burning with flames and no word but sounds of injustice she screamed
I saw the tree black and wounded so thought I of the lady
I asked the dying soul"what happens to your shed once blacked out"

She with no feeling to despair said"you shall be obsessed with the
idea for a fornite but no justice will we receive"

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