The blood on my hands isn't mine
It's of the ones I've let down in the past
And in time I'll let down even more
Must make more room for their warm blood to go
Over my fingers and onto the floor
I'm not sure if I can take much more
Over my nails and under my palm
Down they drip salty and red
Rubies droplets that still spin in my head
I've let them down once again
Now my own blood is on my hands
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem