Enjoying in the pressure of thought, I'll kill my Muse
Wrath is my guide, a coward heart
Without any sense of an existence Of a Beauty and a Love.
A Death of her is only what I want, what I feel, what I see.
Your sadism, turned me into the machine
Vengeance is waiting to be satisfied
St. Anger is my Fuel.
Erected pride is born, waiting to be finalized
at the ending point.
This is just an ideology of the ruthless sadist.
Your beauty was a freedom and a torture cage
of one deluded hollow.
Your Beauty was a Secret Flower, my Love, only I had.
Now, that flower withered in wounded heart.
But your beauty whispers out to be saved
What will your lips tell me, while our hearts will bleed at our end?
“We'll gonna wake up again in Hall where Black Roses grow”
Yes, baby, The New Sorrow is Born, we will be The One again.
And you will be A Muse Of My Terror.