Your hands are dipped in crimson blood
you say there is no stain.
You're covered in the sores of death
you say there is no pain.
You're fitted with a millstone
you say there is no strain.
Your house is filled with mirrors
you say you are not vain.
You look like you're from Auschwitz
you say you only gain.
Your bed is made with razor wire
you say you have not lain.
The wood is full of splinters
you say there is no grain.
You're living in the depths of hell
you say you're
HOME AGAIN.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/30/2015
All rights protected
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
Your hands are dipped in crimson blood
you say there is no stain.
You're covered in the sores of death
you say there is no pain.
You're fitted with a millstone
you say there is no strain.
Your house is filled with mirrors
you say you are not vain.
You look like you're from Auschwitz
you say you only gain.
Your bed is made with razor wire
you say you have not lain.
The wood is full of splinters
you say there is no grain.
You're living in the depths of hell
you say you're
HOME AGAIN.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/30/2015
All rights protected
