Your eyes so cold, your heart so numb

I know what you are

A monster, a tyrant, I'm so dumb

to think this could go far.



Your face is pale, you never speak

I can't say a word

Never again, you'll think I'm weak

But you'll never again be heard.



I'm not dumb, I'm not smart

I am simply sick.

I look at you, rip you apart

Am I finally psychotic



I had to do, what I had to do

I couldn't leave you here

I took the knife, I got rid of you

and thus I end my fear



I lay your body, ever so still

I drop it into a hole

This I know, you'll never feel

I watch you as you roll.



I am weak, and yet I'm not

I hope I pay the cost

For this crime, I hope I rot

Assuming I don't get lost

Around the grave, they all gather, as they quietly begin to mourn

In the middle of their hearts, stands a lonely thorn.

Poking and stabbing, and jabbing away, everything seems so lost.

Though it's winter, it's so cold, they don't mind old Jack Frost.



A man has fallen in a war, something that shouldn't be fought

But the government has it's lie, freedom should be bought

Around the nation, the people wonder why they need to mourn

It's the lies, it's the lies, being told by this lonely thorn.



The weapons blast, people die, blood spills upon the ground

Some people die, gone forever, their bodies are never found.

War is war, there are no sides, nobody can truly win.

But thanks to him, the war goes on, this should have been a sin.



The battles rage on, people fall, and families start to mourn

For the lies, that were told, now people are getting scorned.

There's a lesson in all of this, but nobody will ever see

It doesn't take blood, nor mass death, to continue to be free.



And so the family begins to cry, they slander that one thorn

The bell goes off as they leave, darkness is what they worn.

God stands next to them, trying to give them comfort

It's okay, my lonely child, I'm sorry for the hurt.



War is hell, hell is war, this is what we know.

People die, in the end, and the rivers end it's flow.

All shall stop, not a sound, except from a single horn.

Thanks to them we are dead, and now we are your thorn.