Ramafame
December
December, the angels cry in vain and suffered from the insanityThey were like a, a dreedful child, white cold and dark blueThere is no place to go nor place to be, except the pain we all haveWhile the angels waiting for the sign to end it once for allYou are my skin, which makes my wounds unhealSweetness of blood spillsWhy are the children dying from our own miseryWhen I needed caring, you were not thereAs a child molested and abused from the hands of his gripShe tried so many times no wonder she is afraidI felt so afraid and tried to earse the pain when I saw her scarsShe hated live and she cant stand the pain her after all she had tryYou are my skin, which makes my wounds unhealSweetness of blood spillsWhy are the children dying from our own miseryWhen I needed caring, you were not thereYou are my skin, which makes my wounds unhealSweetness of blood spillsWhy are the children dying from our own miseryWhen I needed caring, but you were not there
From Letras Mania