My house is burned down, nothing but a charcoal mound,
There is gas on my hands, and matches in my pocket,
But i don't remember doing this, it must have been a spark from the socket
My mother was in there, my father too,
The firemen tried, but could only save one thing.
It was in my father's closet, it must have once been shiny and new,
It was a gift for me, a silver dagger
Looking at it made me madder,
The hilt was melted a bit.
My sanity leaves and hides in a pit
“Son” i thought i heard my father,
But it was an officer, in my grief, i stabbed her
It felt so good,
If i could do it again, I would
And i will, but first
I need to hide, before i fulfill my thirst