Oh. I am not brave, I walk through this earth meandering much like a slave, chest shattered much like crumbled glass, That I hope that I soon to pass with some dignity, Pity. It's all this broken heart has felt, not for itself but for the ones knelt, They shout and curse such vengeful sentences, That I too hear the deceit inside their intentions,
What is love? Why do you ask? When that history seems to splatter my past, I am not a cruel boy, no, My heart intentionally was left out to wither in the snow.