By Reverend Beautiful Pyre
I lay in my bed, and I ponder my life,
I ponder who and what I am;
I think about all the pain and strife,
Holding my onyx soul in my hand.
I love it, I cradle it, this little rag doll,
Though it's missing one button eye;
Souls are Divine, so why do I seem to fall?
Why do I sit here and why do I cry?
There is a mirror in this room in my mind,
Showing what others would think of me;
Why do I seek within it what I'll never find?
I should shatter it and set myself free.
The mirror, it mocks me, they all stand within
And point and laugh at their prey;
I'd like to show them that I'm not my sin,
But what in the world would I say?
All the taunting continues and the doll makes a shout,
For I'm squeezing its head much too tight;
In anger I squeeze till the stuffing comes out,
Its blood is as black as the night.
I rock in anger and frustration, and they call this a sign
That I'm an unstable and dangerous guy;
That I'm prone to bitch, moan, complain, and whine,
They don't know me - I wish they'd just die.
Finally in rage, I scream at the mirror's face,
And fling my black soul at its glass;
Shards of it scatter all over the place,
As I scream to them, "You can all kiss my ass!"
Now the mirror is broken, their voices are gone,
My soul's now impaled with shards;
I'm still not quite better, the quest's not yet done,
As I roam my internal graveyards.
My soul and I now roam this world and heal,
The memories still haunting our mind;
Now and then a shard will taunt with zeal,
It's the one stuck in my soul's behind.