Bad luck is hunting me down,
No matter where I travel,
Whether in the country or in the town,
Thirteen is the number tattooed on my soul.

I'm thirteen, black cat, spilling-the-salt,
I demolish all goodness,
Forget all that I've been taught,
I'm thirteen, black cat, a pavement crack,
I destroy the passion,
I'm the weight that's on your back,
I'm thirteen, black cat, crossing-the-knives,
I damage her wisdom,
I'm working on breaking lives.

Paint me a picture of the inside of my soul,
Using only gray and black,
Ceaseless darkness and dreary coals.

Paint me a picture of a soldier in the rain,
Cover him in gentle tones,
To hide the man that dwells in pain.

Paint me a picture of a castle standing proud,
Its ruined structure still bold,
More dignity than I'm allowed.

In the corner of my mind lies a hidden miracle,
An honest feeling that dwells undisturbed,
Motionless,
Frozen in time,
It's an image of what might have been,
If time had let you stay and not forced you to let go,
It's the fear,
The fact that i'll never know.

Glad for what we had but it's not enough,
They say 'take the smooth with the rough',
But hell isn't a place you are meant to travel through,
You were stolen and i was thrown to the ever-after,
In space and given to Hades,
I drowned in despair.

I miss you.

Today i grew older,
I am now 22,
But the sadness of my reflection,
Hurts me through and through,
I should be dancing and flying with the stars,
But the agony of my recollections,
Removes the essence of all i do.

A child beneath the stars held his teardrops in his hands,
And let them fall through his fingertips like the turning of the sands,
His mother had hurt him,
His father had cried,
And the anger was building,
Suppress it though he tried.

He moved toward the edge and leapt into eternity,
No more to be seen,
His mother now dreams of turning back the clocks,
His father wants a magic wand to reverse the trick,
The evil plan,
No explanation can ease the agony,
But the boy is free,
Close your eyes and see,
The boy is me.

Sadness in the eyes of a preacher,
As his church grows emptier by the day,
Religion is not as strong,
But for the preacher the days are long,
Night times are lonely,
Hymns go unheard,
Tired of the gospel failing the word,
Upon the crucifix he lays his truth,
Behind the bible of fables and tales,
Upon the blue sadness he drowns and bails.