• How is it that each moment, each sentance
    So sweet and fleeting
    Have turned bitter and regretful
    This formed from love from bliss
    Is now the dagger held close
    Dying, Decayed, and Unknown now
    What used to be so dear to me
    How is it that each moment rot
    Each word turned poison
    Each second made waste?

    Would it be that this dagger
    That causes so much spite and malice
    Be something I cherish
    Something I love and hold dear
    Why such a torture be created
    Why such sadness be born
    So take this dagger and cut away
    Instead the rage and sorrow
    But discovered last the dagger strengthens
    To be stained again
    To be stained again