Getting to the higher gate, never looking back,
We were made of wooden vale, but I will be deaf with your knock,
You wore the same jokes, your girls still find it funny,
You're a robber of youth, couldn't even give an ounce of pity.
Your place was full of corral and deceiving pictures,
In your white shirt, you cage dewdrops, a monster of captures,
You murdered little women, attended their wakes, you felt good,
Writing this book wasn't enough, I need to smash your face like a food.
You said you hate it there, foolish me I welcomed you in,
With your axe, you're looking for a victim, not an inn,
I ran for my life, from the porch to the highest balcony,
Bloody wrist, shaky fingertips, is that how you loved me?
Collection of dead bodies in your hell's secret floor,
Threw all evidences on your neighboring shore,
I laid there, no life, talking with the dead and having solemn days,
If you broke and burned the hays, there will be haze, a horrific chase.
