Break me down,
Give me away,
Count my heart beats...
Before a turn to clay.
It is a slow fade,
I'm prying, dying,
By your own blade.
There is nothing here,
No air, no aid.
'Death' of a body,
Rebirth of a soul,
You broke my confidence into pieces
But in 'death' I am whole!
This is not hate I feel,
To your shame I'll wear my best gown.
I am proud of me, and sorry for you.
Welcome to the final countdown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem