The figure of your shadow,
Drips down from the wall.
To the place on the floor where you kneel,
Crying like a child would cry.
Scared and hurt,
Your heart must be dying now.
How sweet the taste of dripping blood,
The sound it makes while it becomes
Undead and new.
This is not the end.
And then you say, "Is this not the end?"
Somewhere in my childhood,
I made a secret vow.
I hid myself away from them,
The ones who tried to teach.
To me the only truth.
This boy alone was shouting out loud,
I want to live and I want to die!
I want to live and die!
And something more!
This is not the end!
And then you say, "Is this not the end?"
Often in my world,
I see the reflection of one.
Who listens to the words they say,
And spins a different tale.
About the world,
The creation, and our fate.
All mighty wicked myths are these.
The legends are old and we need a new.
And silent one.. silent one..

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