Leiddist, var búnað lesa einhverjar blaðsíður af gömlum póstum ákvað reyna. Ætti að snúa mér að ljóðagerð held ég…

A portrait of my mind is painted on the wall
I will not fall I will stand tall I will not go
witout a fight I´m not walking to that cursed light,
I´ve been here for to long to be gone this is mine
touch it and I´ll break your spine this is my life
my place remember this face his holy grace that´s me
now stay away be gone.
As the sun goes down the moon prepares it´s crown for
it is about to rise, night is comming day is gone
I step out of the shadows, I´ve waited for to long
feeding time is now, my thirst for blood is strong,
I know it´s wrong, but somehow I must go on,
it´s what I need to stay alive,
my pray is about to arrive, fresh meat,
I leap out hear him shout as I go for his throat
take him out take his life commit a crime,
I didn´t do it for a dime, could have done
it with the knife but for some reason i chose
to get up close and do it with my fist, began
by grabbin his wrist and squeeze tight like
I was blocking the light sealing it with in
same as they would do to me if they cought me
a natural born killer here to kill believe me I will.
The rest should not be said, you might hear about it
when I´m dead but for now I´m going to sleep
atleast going to try dont know why
when I´d rather just shoot my self and die.

kominn með illt í augun of mikil birta held að það sé sniðugast fyrir mig að hætta áður enn að þetta rugl verður eitthvað verra, is that possible?