By Barry Topham
I sit here, about to cry
You stand there, about to die.
I hate to kill you but I must,
My excuse is that, my cause is just.
To me, you are already dead,
An evil spirit, in an empty head.
You drink that stuff, and eat your food,
And walk around in that foul mood.
You bring me here to kill me at last,
But I believe it is your time that has passed.
In my mind I see the blade swinging down and down,
Your mutilated, painted face laughs, like an insane clown.
I think of the photo, a time you loved me,
Before you went on your mad killing spree.
The times we made love, the secrets we shared,
The things that you said, a time when you cared.
I think of those which you have slayed,
And end your life with a swinging blade.
I bring down the lever with a swift flick,
God, I hope your death is quick
My love for you still lives on,
Take it to the place where you have gone.
All that's left for me to say,
Is that I wish I'd run away.
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