Slapped The Ugly Face Of Murdered Death
Big eyes got me hiding phobias.
Closing doors to begin the unruly searches.
While my spirit Nurses.
Shyness scratches its head and Sympathy looks away.
Shadows pretend their busy but I thought they may.
Pray, pray quickly pray before you stand unguarded and watch accidents play.
How many times have I slapped the ugly face of murdered death?
So many times as a child, a visual memory was left holding on his last breath.
One distorted moment changed a dozen lives, including mines.
I've gone with the wind while being left in desperate Times.
The worlds not safe not even for young angels to pray.
What would the heavenly spirits do and what will they say?
Nobody calls me by my spirit's name, because their mind is set on games.
They're not built for spiritual wars.
Only when the Lords speech pours.