deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Guillotine
Lay your head
Upon my shoulders.
your tears grow weak
your blood runs colder.
Anticipating your cruel demise
the wind it carries
Your deep somber
Cries.
This rope
Is your last thing holding your life
hope lies in the failure of the knife.
Upon my shoulders.
your tears grow weak
your blood runs colder.
Anticipating your cruel demise
the wind it carries
Your deep somber
Cries.
This rope
Is your last thing holding your life
hope lies in the failure of the knife.
Published 25th May 2012
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