my angels are demons
you could'nt understand,
awash w/ death
in the palm of my hand...
angel wings upon my back
devil wings upon my shoulder,
angels whispers in my ear
devil whispers and i am colder.
i draw some blood,
and take a breath,
i push the plunger,
a brush w/ death.
angels they bleed,
devils they feed,
visions in my mind,
entangling me.
substaces controlled,
throughout my bloodstream unfold...
save me a taste,
of the tounge twisting
face.
so i can pen me a verse,
most shockingly unrehearsed... |
Submission Name: ''a brush w/ death''
