LJD





	Poem by Aimaproject ©
On an old rocking-chair betrayed bride you receive the dust of years in the lace of your wedding dress no more white your future reflected in the blade of a knife awaits for the tracherous lover's preaches Madness betrayed bride has deformed your face limpid and viscious slaver's stalactites go down slowly from your mouth: wish of blood dissatisfied for years.		but your soul will rise higher, higher I feel your soul rising higher I feel your soul rising higher, higher I feel your soul rising higher, higher higher Your knife will cut deep wounds of hate and revenge, while your soul will rise higher no, it’s a lie, you won’t rise so higher, higher, higher, higher, higher, higher, higher, higher, higher, but you’ll cast in the hell of your soul.