How darkly the dark hand met his end
He was withered and boney, exposed for a phoney
But we heed the last words that he penned
Haste to disgrace the traitor. Do not wait til later
I don’t think that you’ve got to pretend
I see God in birds and Satan in long words
But I know what you need in a friend
So now when I leave you, I hope I won’t see you

If you call then I’m coming to get you

17 notes
she's too quiet