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| KILL ME BEFORE I DIE I walk lonely in a crowded street Littered with debris of broken promises... My palms are armed with the written words Piercing the hearts of the political brutes: Even if I die, hang my tongue in the museum Like an ocean, wet it shall be with spoken words... I wait, kill me before I die. Death shivers, creeps in the dark with a blunt sickle crouching round the garden of blooming roses Searching for the one with the tougher thorns... Morning shall befall the brutal messengers: Gone! Gone shall be the song of the rising sun... As the sickle drips with blood And death lies in the gutter of shame ...death, you shall die. Kill me before I die... Like the wounded lamb that bled to death, I shall not die... My words, forever, shall rise against the kingdoms From which come the vultures in black. |
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but once again, I love that people are putting things like this in their notebook!