The Saint of Killers Paroles

they think you are

When you pass through

some darkness

You leave youth behind you

Like a serpent gets rid

of its bark

Down with joy under consent

of nature

Up with your duties,

no more time for cold feet
You're full of an

irrational ache to be

The haunting that rides

the twilight

The whispering undead spitfire

Something more

truthfully heartless

Than people's half-life

emptiness

And if one day a new chance

you receive

Then you could waste it

just the way they did