I'd like to play a song
I once heard someone sing.
So harrowing and hauntingly beautiful,
The fervor in their eyes
Sent shivers down my spine.
Although their words elude me,
and the melody only brushed my memory
It sits in my mind like a stone.
Unmoving and untouchable.
A song of passion, but not of love.
The passion of suffering.
The passion of misery.
The passion of hope.
And the passion of death.
Ever present in the
instrumental confines,
entering your ear,
and ringing in your head.
A gunshot,
meant for your ear,
but it pierces your heart.
Paralyzing all but your senses,
leaving you to hear, see, and feel
All that is cruel and empty.
Leaving you bleeding out on a concrete floor,
staining your finest suit,
miasma entering your last breath.
You lie in pain,
Comforted only by death's warm embrace.
A song forged in pain.
The lyrics, made of salvaged scraps,
found by hungry vultures
on the carcasses of dead thoughts,
memories, and moments.
Murdered by their king,
And left to rot
in the fields they once sowed.
My dear audience,
The song is dedicated
to the wonderful muses
blessing me, not with ideas,
but with unending spite.
To be here today is not a gift
but a curse, a sick joke.
Today, I sing for you,
The Lost Soul's Requiem.