Roy Harper

Roy Harper
Man Kind

Of my torture
I am spreadeagled by it
Watching the knife
Slowly going in
Exposing my naked
Thumping heart
And I shed a tear
For a grey sky

My executioner is masked
I try to take a deep breath
As she rips the aorta
Hoping that she also rips
My lungs or windpipe
So that I can play her
The final power chord
Of my last intake
Straight into her face

The tear running down mine
Will be the last thing I feel

Before I awake
To collect my shreaded dreams
From around the universe
In which they'd been strewn


Submitted by OptimusPrime at Thu 14 Aug, 2003 9:43 pm

Author: ?
Composer: ?
Publisher: ?
Language: English


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