The wound was wet
Your skin was salt
You felt at fault just under fleeing threat
The night we met
I've not left yet
Caught in this field where I can't forget

You begged a kiss
I tore away
Circling prey, hear my vulture hiss
The claws I miss
Your beak's sharp bliss
Feed on rusted pain, the end of this

The death of me
The time I haunt
My flesh torn gaunt, I won't fly towards free
Keep pecking debris
The sickness in me
I trace it back, to that night's last plea