You ignore the fire in your chest, I guess I never, Believe in you.
You have the taste of death on your lips.
But your sent still burns hot in these lungs.
I will forget what you have become.
At midnight my nightmares come alive, to roam free of this burdensome mind.
Im the Heretic, so take the words from these lips.
Your God is dead.
So as my feet leave the ground, the rope around my neck has stopped this heart.
My soul is forced to leave you behind.

This poem was written/submitted by Chris Louer.