It is a story weaved
with thread of blood

interlaced with sorrow
a fear of tomorrow

on master's loom of con
a cloak of death then donned

a veil of deceit
cover eyes complete

behind a screen
nightmarish dream

perpetrated

infiltrated

I turned away
to study emotionless
the whole I'm dying mess

and will not add myself
to the trophies on your shelf

I see

I understand

I won't follow the merry band
through streets of deception sure.
I'll not be placed within picture.

Feign your end, do it quietly
I'll give no wage of sympathy.

WhiteRose