When a bullet isn't between my lips, words of hatred often are.
I beg for love and steal from God and set bridges up in flames.

I hide knifes in drawers and backs and I keep secrets safe from harm.
Without a purpose I loathe so beautifully, without a love I'm so alone.

I keep a razor in my wallet, next to the photograph of you and me.
I sing songs of wanting to change, but I've been living in my hell for years.

I paint words of fear so easily but I can't seem to grip onto bravery,
I wish so badly to feel others pain, but I can't ******* cope with my own.


I am the King of the Cowards.
I am the Leader of the Loners.
I an the Prophet of the Pained.
I am the Saint of the Sinners.