Off with her head

Sentenced to death to release life's breath, confess sweet one confess. It was your hand stricken the dead. A cry to the damned I beg, O how beg. Sweet one the end is near, the end is near. Rebuke wicked actions for the tide rises and smothers us all. Or do you believe not my words?. Jaded mislead by the self proclaimed suicide or the inner mind that made you, and the outer death that broke you. Pieces lover, pieces.

A soulless cry from the inside, lies they feed us, from the rod they beat us. Blood on my hand, and a puked grin, it speaks to you, of this I am sure. But the words never plant deep enough to change, O how I whished you would change.
The end is hear sweet one, the end is hear.