It grips you with all it's might.
It won't let you go.
It's cold heart you'll hear beating hard and spiteful in your ears,
Hoping it will go away soon to your spirit again can grow.
Grief is a horrid thing.
It rips at your heart like no other known pain.
It's cold heart you'll hear beating hard and spiteful in your ears.
Holding you close to it, pushing you out into the rain.
Grief is a horrid thing.
It works hard to make sure you can't take a breath.
It's cold heart you'll hear beating hard and spiteful in your ears.
Clenching your tears in it's hands after a death.
Grief is a horrid thing.
It has no aroma or taste.
It's cold heart you'll hear beating hard and spiteful in your ears.
Masking itself in you, within your saddened face.
Grief is also a horrid necessity of life.
It's necessity is clear,
Because without grief and all it's horribleness,
Our own crosses we couldn't bear.
By: Shely Belk
April 17th, 2005
