My heart, on a platter before you
Pain I have, I wish you knew...
.
devoid of freshness...
Born in the desert just like a sandstorm,
pulling every inch of strength to strike...
God witnessed my defeat, today,
while I lost one more battle...
Pouring salt on
an open wound...
They come from black depths,
Twisting and squirming...
31st of August 1888
Whitechapel...
It's really cold in here
The place is pitch black...
I may have become bitter,
and as cold as ice...
At the bus stop in the rain she waits,
Approaching her unseen and making no mistake...
Young and reckless is what I used to be,
Not a care was given nor any weight on my...
In a bitter eeriness I lonely wander
over sharp thorns, I no longer ponder...