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Thine heart pumps of cold blood

posted 4/26/2013 6:15:10 AM |
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  dr3arms

thine hearts pumps of cold blood

truth be told I’m realy old
older then time with out reason or rhyme
to these dates where hellish thoughts
where things are not as they seems
but thine heart pumps of cold blood
filling the veinse in my mind like a peice of long forgotten time
where these rules I’ve lived by
are shaken and stirred with out the word
of life itself damn the feelings that make my life
so full of strife and yet to hot to breath
for the winters wind stirrs though my body
lookying all rotting like john stewarts bad hobby
yes I’m whiter then a sheet of paper
but I rhyme rhymes a lot better
then the days of haze my maze of the mind
keeps in time with this beating of dumb brums wich hum my death cry

thought you knew me better then that
you think I’ll back down from this path
I set myself on for the run of the long
thinking my goals staring me in nthe face
how dare you blow your cold winds at me
the way you look at me
through these dreams untold
by the legends of old they take hold
making me ever more blod
for the time lords knows not of my thoughts
and rots away whenever I speak of your mind
thine hearts pumps of cold blood
the color of mud that ruins my mood

so now here I sit upon a star
wishing for the wishes from afar
to conquer new worlds and save the girls
from the doom that sets me free to be
all that I can be
how dare you dragons
to think of slag to throw in my face
this race of mine
I fight alone and not be dethroned by the likes of you
to choose the ruse wich you choose to abuse
to ruin the days of haze
the mind of my maze
I say this to you
those who abuse the gift of life
to cause such strife rife with the wrongs
wich you thought one right

but there I sit upon a star wishing the wishes the were from afar
to make you pay for the evil done to me
to make you say that once you hugged me
in your arms I felt the coldness within
and in your words I sought comfort but but found none
but the one that had done the evil deed of sowing the seed
and this is where my words are the sharpest
those of the new harvest
there claim to fame of theres is but
blame that brings shame to there family name
and honor no longer found
around the bed where be hur and stalin beget you
tIll they found another round of bullets you took and shook
hoping for dear life that strife would catch you
take your mind
and sting young thought
but fear not
for the reaper of life and the reaper of souls
have seen your none but bloody goals
and they have there scythes sharper then wit
more lethal then the acid from wich you spit
thine heart pumps of cold blood
the blood of monsters
the color of mud....

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Thine heart pumps of cold blood