Thousand times a death no longer with the seams
When I look for answers, nothing seems to clear
Clear the sorrow, anguish, and the pain
No answer will console, nor questions for comfort


Come as the world joins in sorrow
Sorrow upon sorrow, as hatred won the battle
Endless, at it's nature, yet we endure the coming years
As our sorrow never, ever seems to fade.


With the times, sever our greatest triumphs
Fighting endlessly with lives in our hands
No love can heal as burning heart
As the strings, snapped the moors of the broken mind

At the whims of Seventh Death, I still assure what was her health,
What is health and what is left? In the end she was of Death,
Still I assure what was her lust—her hunger—after Death,
That her tastes have changed—little innocence maintained,


Still peculiar of her tastes, yet with little innocence maintained,
She had sought her tastes, yet ask if she could taste,
Strange as it may, her state as we could say,
Not the mindless, like the rest, but the craving still remained,


Now I simply ask you, as her days have already passed,
Give her what she needs, for she had kindly asked,
As the hearts have bled in heaven, please, will you be so kind?
Give her what she wants, for unfortunate she was.

Still I linger unto death, no meaning,
Still I suffer—even silence has no meaning,
Even still, every evening, when the demons still beguiling,
All my sorrow into anger—anger into hate,


Every moonlit evening, still the same,
When my sorrow plunging into madness,
Madness unto madness with the whims of never ending hate,
Tears has no meaning—all they did was never listen,


Now I knew what they were thinking,
Only hate was in their hearts,
Never understanding how another feels,
When only difference could be seen,


Never minding equals, only difference,
And their anger only from our difference,
No apologies accepted, only hate was counted,
Nothing that would matter,


Therefore I would be,
Another monster they would see,
Another monster they would feel,
As Wrath resembles me,


When they beg for mercy, only vengeance they would see,
No more chances, no more love, as Hate resembles me,
Only ****** in my heart as they have held their hate,
Even Death will not restrain me.

Little over nightly days and ghostly wails—
   Comes a burden with a ghost,
   Deadlier than most encountered,
Still I have the failings that desired—
   Less than they required,
   Still there, mocking like the wind.


Earth and silver, more than gold—
   Still I hear, the ghostly wail of haunting wind.
   Love of mine,
   Is it you?
Answer, if you can—divine from Death.
   I am still here, waiting for your lovely health.


Then I saw the precious silver from the ground—
   And a dash of wind which tills the sound,
   Crying, wailing, like a ghost,
Name of purity, meaning purity, still sings—
   Name of yours, and still haunting,
   To this day, still haunting my very dreams.

Spoken words of lesser thought that gave no means to end,
Haunting nightmares—soul was severed, what was left in Life?
Life of one, and life to all she knew and cared forgotten,
What remains in Life, a desolate and bitter land?

Only that remained was but a bitter memory,
Anguish in her torment, are we men? Or are we demons?
Nothing but a mortal—prone to mishaps, failures, pressures,
Yet you dare defile, diminish, and destroy her life,

To the wicked ones who dared to—know that vengeance comes,
It approaches like a storm—her torment will be yours,
Knowing nothing of her torment, being beaten then,
Wrathful judgment coming—nearing, at your very door.

She was nothing but a maiden—would you dare to try?
Dare to try to torment her, you soulless spawn of Satan?
Dare to overwhelm and plunge her heart and soul to darkness?
To the point of death and still to torment her in death?

You will know of this—you have deserved the wrath and judgment,
Of the many of the righteous brethren, they will carry,
They will deal the wrathful blow to every wicked heart,
Righteous hearts have cried for vengeance, this shall be fulfilled.

As I speak of vengeance, know that words cannot describe,
Hard and bitter feelings that has blossomed in the righteous,
Let the Maiden be the symbol, martyr, and the gift,
That her death should be our weapon to the wicked heart.