You could have been a killer
But you never learnt to wipe the blood from your hands properly
This whole situation bugs me
As I find a microphone to scream down
You wanted my attention
But instead I locked you in a room filled with dangerous fire
That crawled up the walls
And clawed at your pretty hair
This is a gun
And you're going down
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem