the martyr is: wincing as the brain claws at the skull.
But if you're asking me to love you forever and accept your love forever... Too late: You're already stuck with that.
and here i stand... a gluttonous fool. the silver rose has lost it's beauty, and the saint is still so far away. boredom clutches at your narrator's mind, and so with treacherous heart and wretched hands this one weaves a new connection with an old flame. the flame that was never kindled in the way it wished, now has been accepted into this icy heart.
I certainly hope that i do not burn the flame.
and here i stand... a gluttonous fool. the silver rose has lost it's beauty, and the saint is still so far away. boredom clutches at your narrator's mind, and so with treacherous heart and wretched hands this one weaves a new connection with an old flame. the flame that was never kindled in the way it wished, now has been accepted into this icy heart.
I certainly hope that i do not burn the flame.