Entry

Magazin für Dark Music, Kult(ur) und Avantgarde

to the Nightchild

In the night,

when I’m cold inside,

and there is no one to touch,

I think of you.

When my voice gives out,

tears grow stale,

and the concrete is warm with my need,

I think of you.

When I spin the chamber,

pull the trigger,

and hear only al hollow click,

I think of you.

After killing a year with the bottle,

fucking the faceless,

and fleeing across the citys

I’m thinking of you - and always will

I know you know it, I know you do.

Shadow98