Marigold
Eight
Behold the masses
armed with their vile words
words that cut deeper than the sword
The orchestra of hecklers
will never cease the ruckus
as I am no audience
worthy of their acceptance
Do your worst my friend
For we shall meet again
My disease has stricken everyone
twas I who made you ill
now this body you wish to kill
but today is the day and I'm still mine
To me, the tears I see are gold
the hearts I've touched burn cold
and in the darkness of the midnight sun
I know, regardless, MY WILL IS DONE
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