Angel Of Death

On a sunday the first I was born sixty-eight.
I grew up ignored and treated with hate.
 
Enbraced by darkness and poison one day
my heart started changing to worse in some way.
 
Being a loner, friends came few, but were real.
Didn´t earn them at all, mislearned how to feel.
 
Blinded by greed and called by false voices,
made a pact with the devil, started taking bad choices.
 
With a smile on my face the dark half became bigger.
Tried to bring it to end with my hand on the trigger.
 
Couldn´t do it, was too hungry for life.
Instead cutted red flowers with my burning knife.
 
Was too selfish to realize, 
that true friendship comes with a price.
 
Saw all precious souls dying.
My life´s surrounded by dead;
they were already lost the first day that we met.
 
Death´s like a pilgrim of mine,
and -even worse-
whomever I touch will be doomed by my curse.
 
Being Angel Of Death must be my fate.
I am a living dead... 
 
 
(c) 2005 by Francis Craig (F.T. Flachmeier)