Year Of The Swine

You carry the loyalty of dogs

so you shall be led to the slaughter as swim

IT all seemed so real in your whispers

Adorned with the best of intentions, bleeding softly

IT's late and my ears can't listen

and these is no one to list me to my feet

But still i dream of you

twisting and contouring beneath a barbage bag veil

And this is how it ends, pretty and black as the soul

Just for one split instant i want to be the lucky one

Not to have the pleasure of tasting the salt of tears when we kiss