Nothing stings more than the bloodied tip
Which burns in my back and makes my blood drip
And if I had known this would be my fate
No reason could I conjure, nor could create
But alas, it is so, and my back has been gorged
Burning the bridge of trust which was forged
And pitifully I lay with my face in the dirt
As you walk away from this pain and unsettling hurt
A fool that I was to put faith in a lie
The result in which my trust will perish and die
And as you recede in the darkness, into the foggy night
With your cape draped across your face, shading the light
I will be here, with your knife in my spine
Where your devious acts had sat down
To Feast and To Dine