Death and misery intertwine,
by Amber Green
As I grow to hate the hour of nine.
Tears are so foriegn, yet they fall,
Each time God drops another ball.
The balls of life are slipping through his hands,
As the souls of the lost drift into distant lands.
He wins his games each day and night,
And everytime he does I am stricken by fright.
There's only so many times a heart can be broken,
And each time, God takes another token.
He's giving me all of this as a test,
To see if I really can be the best.
But the truth is, I lost years ago,
Because the healing of my heart was just too slow.