Assassin

Believe in the killer in me, Innocent, she believes in me, Metaphorical Scent of disease, Regardless oh whom I tried to be... Dead by the hands of a mistaken assassin, Still, she claims what she was not, The hunter became what the hunted has been, An image of ignorance behind the roots of a thought. Experience is worth for what we are now, Lifeless and cruel, casting a doubt, Over the wings of the choices we once approached, But that's not what I saw, that's what I was told... Dead by the hands of a mistaken assassin, Still, she claims what she was not, The hunter became what the hunted has been, An image of ignorance behind the roots of a thought. May the metal of your arms Be my last empty grave, For against your believes Nothing's stronger than hate, Just relieve this empty shell Of all I once drew, Because for all that I did I'm no better than you...