Sweet suicide, there was nothing left to make it right.
Although it has been tried, all attempts died tonight.
You have not failed, no need to feel any guilt.
It was not you, who was lost in darkness.
It was not you, that hated all.
Now you feel his pain, cry for his death which was vain.
Now you crawl further, searching an answer to your pain.
Whom is there with a reason to make her smile?
Someone that can free her mind from exile.
Is she lost, as a sheep in wolves teeth
or won't she break beneath?
As days began to pass, each day, she lived a little less
Death began to live it's life, brought by a fall and a knife
The end came near, it felt as thoughts and skin whom sear
Wihtout him she could not live, all that's left, was her life to give
She awaited the night to fall, then she walked to the place where it happened all.
This was her night, inside she had some doubt if this were right
A memorie of her love{, standing at the same place, ready for death's embrace,} made it right, also she, would die...tonight...
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IN HET SPROOKJESBOS IS HET OOK WELEENS HOMMELUS !! Arthur Schopenhauer is geniaal.
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