Friday, May 3, 2013
Walk with me down the streets of blood
Don't falter, my dear, or stumble
The straight and narrow is for the weak
The twisted and black for the humble.
The tolls will come, and pay we shall
Pluck out our tongues and our eyes
What good will such things do for us
In a world without crying and lies?
I see you slow and spy the end
Glass eyes make no mistake
The choice to walk this path, my dear
Was never yours to make.
Labels: the wooden girl