Believe in the killer in me,
Innocent, she believes in me,
Metaphorical Scent of disease,
Regardless of whom I tried to be...
Dead by the hands of a mistaken assassin,
Still, she claims what she was not,
The hunter became what the hunted has been,
An image of ignorance behind the roots of a thought.
Experience is worth for what we are now,
Lifeless and cruel, casting a doubt,
Over the wings of the choices we once approached,
But that's not what I saw, that's what I was told...
Dead by the hands of a mistaken assassin,
Still, she claims what she was not,
The hunter became what the hunted has been,
An image of ignorance behind the roots of a thought.
May the metal of your arms
Be my last empty grave,
For against your believes
Nothing's stronger than hate,
Just relieve this empty shell
Of all I once drew,
Because for all that I did
I'm no better than you...
