Angel of Death

(Frank Flachmeier)

Angel Of Death

On a sunday the first I was born sixty-eight.
I grew up ignored and treated with hate.
Enbraced by darkness and poison one day
my heart started changing to worse in some way.
Being a loner, friends came few, but were real.
Didn´t earn them at all, mislearned how to feel.
Blinded by greed and called by false voices,
made a pact with the devil, started taking bad choices.
With a smile on my face the dark half became bigger.
Tried to bring it to end with my hand on the trigger.
Couldn´t do it, was too hungry for life.
Instead cutted red flowers with my burning knife. 
Was too selfish to realize, 
that true friendship comes with a price.
Saw all precious souls dying.
My life´s surrounded by dead;
they were already lost the first day that we met.
Death´s like a pilgrim of mine,
and -even worse-
whomever I touch will be doomed by my curse.
Being Angel Of Death must be my fate.
I am a living dead…
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