Vomito Negro

Meeting Eyes

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The wind was blowing, time stood still.
Another kill, another thrill.
Voices whispering in the dark.
Voices whispering in the night.
Still they call your name.
Still they want the same.
Bad dreams, bad nights.
A bad habit, you want to hide.
You want to kill, you want your thrill.
You see the fever, on his skin.
You try to run, you try to hide.
When you see. The wild look in his eyes.
You see it is coming from inside.
A strange, turn on, his mind.
A strange way of life.
A strange way of meting eyes.
You didn´t know, there were three of us.
A split personality.


Autor(es): Vomito Negro