Dementia

Blood is on my hands I'm a man without plans Sorrow fills my eyes My mother cries as I die The heavens grants me lessons Still evil is a terrible weapon Sorrow is a fragrance For passion to remain patient There’s a funeral in my brain It’s a numerical for pain Its causes my course of action Ironically it’s a source of sanction So I write my final letter Agony is a virtual weather That rains on our lives And its pain for our times