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Words, Words, WordsWords, words, words..What a wonderful weapon,Says the little devilFloating beside our shoulders.What are these bones?They're not quite brittleWon't they ever hurt enoughBut hearts, warm heartsNow those, those areEasy to break, and twist,And tear so thatRipe blood drips everywhere.It is with words that we are broken,And with anger that we shatter.No amount of broken bonesCould ever hurt likeA broken heart
Washed in BloodWashed in bloodwill you ever be set free,Of pain so greatin your bitter heart?Wishing and waitingSomeday to findThat your Justiceis done.I'm not sayingthat what he didis right!But was I?Were you?Is anyone?NoWe have tonguesLike vipers,Hands of Ironand Fists of steel.Words now softand ever pleasing to the earare turned to Poisonin the whispers ofHatred and DespairSmack went the Hammer,As Thunk went the Nail.It was my hand, your hand, Our handsThat drove it home.
CartheInsane's Connection 8Alas, what are the thingsWhich to me happinessMight they bring?Hear it all, this I confess...The sound of raindropsUpon my window patteringAnd the smell of gumdrops.Maybe even funny mutterings.What of these thingsSimple they may beAs are angel's wingsThis is me, can't you see?But most of allI think I've foundThat it's your hallAnd your sound.
CartheInsane's Connection 7The darkness comes before the pain,With light's fair chorus of the rain.Future's gone to seek her fortune, yetBitter past shall not awake, and fret.My heart's long silence on the road,Till soul's bright harvest be my goad.Like darkness, my twisted sorrow reigns,When as light my blood pumps through my veins.My uncertain future has yet to come,And ever will my past sound drums.Broke hearts shall sing their song,From sweet souls, till all is gone.Feigned darkness has a life to liveWhence light has no spice to give.Bitter future has lost her scroll,Unlike the past, which is only droll.Fair bright heart is found again,In the soul of life's great pen.Once more darkness is lost aloneWithout fair light's shining throne.Little tiny future stuck up in the treeAll past points too can't be free.Little lines of a heart found aloftJust for like her soul, sweet and soft.