On the verge of death,
I left you hanging,
By the thin tread of my memory,
Can you still hear me?
Inside my mind lay millions dead,
Murdered by my own love,
Love of whom, nor you nor I
Pulling away this morbid truth,
From the bitter depths of my heart,
Calling you,  To come and love me true,
Once again, give your life,
So I may create, another loss
Winning yet another thought,
Beauty shadowed darkness,
And yet the dew shined thru,
Like a thousand little stars of the dream
That I had not dreamt,
Of a heart I had not stole,
The merchant of death,
now Knocks your door,
and you have become, yet another play
another story, upon my lips
and they call this tragedy a gift..

- h1gh.