Where many a soul have drowned,
Charmed by the hunter’s fires,
As his beast, so tightly bound.
With scenes of the grey in life,
The disillusioned riot,
The arbitrary is rife,
As they do feed the disquiet.
Lavender scents do stain,
Reminiscent of you,
With a sense that remains,
Long after you pass through.
How to describe such a blood lust as this,
When hearing the preemptive breaking bones,
And the smell of flesh with a burning hiss,
As self-control vanishes in your moans.
As I return to some normality,
I feel very little of sense of care,
But I recall the sheer banality,
And I wish you farewell without a prayer.