Portraits of the dead

A severed stick engullfed by the water. A helpless suicide. Now there is no more swaying with the wind. These draing days always seem to carry me to the ground. These desperate times always seem to drag my body through the clouds. I cry as I fall through the clouds. Unable to see what's in front of me.
All I see is white. i'm helpless in the cold. I'm feeling faint. My body is grounded as my heart explodes. I'm counting on black doves to lifet away my spirit. Do they not hear my cry? My veins, they bleed dry. She's singing lullabyes putting no one to sleep.

I wipe my face but my fists are soaked with blood. These stains, they pierce so deep. I'm sleeping in your dreams, awaken I will not. Have I killed my best friend.
I hear you screaming murder. I'm screaming murder and you're screaming murder. We're all screaming murder. This pain running down my face.

This blod running down my face. These tears running down my face. This pain running down my face. This heart of mine is not meciful.
I brought the angel down and cut her wings. I left her for dead in this lifeless world. She bears no more cross. She cannot breath down here.
She cannot sing down here. She looks at me with hope but all she sees is red. I see red. Red is all I see. Red is all I'll be. Counting on these black doves to hear my cry.