Conscience Effort

That little voice inside my head, The one that says "don't kill them yet", Well I fear that, much to my dread, He's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead. I've gone and I've torn him to shreds. I drained him white, and stained him red. That little echo in my brain, The one that tries keeping me sane, I fear it's not the one to blame, When I cannot live with my shame, despise the taste of my own name, And loathe the rules of my cruel game. That little angel on my shoulder, I've buried him under boulders, Then set him ablaze to smolder. I can't say I've closed his folder, Just that I've never felt bolder, Than the day that I grew colder. That little voice inside my head, The one that says "don't kill them yet", Well I fear that, much to my dread, He's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead. I've drained him white and stained him red, But i do love how much he bled. That little demon on my arm, I fear I fall prey to his charm; I know he wants to bring me harm, But I do just love making scars. Though the hairs raise on my arms, his embrace is far too warm.