Beastial Waltz

For Years It Sleeps, Burrowed In Side
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Tuck it To Sleep, Hidding It with Flowers
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Untill you can Listen to Its Moaning NoMore
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Little Drops of Blood, Playing Its' Waltz
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It Stirrs in Its' Slumber, Inciting your Anger
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You try for years to mute it's song, deafening your self with every other sound
But it won't work. Every drop of blood hits the Feral Piano playing the Beastial Waltz
It Wants to dance, it needs to feed.
For how long can you hide it? For how long can you gag it? How long will you pretend you do not tweek when you hear the voice. That voice, Primadona Insidia, La Coloratura Infernia, weaving your anger blasts and white-knuckled verses into crescendos of fury.
Even in silence the little drops keep playing their tune.
It still calls out for a reason, to lash out, to break, to plant your bones in someone else's flesh and bones. To listen to the sweet piano, waltzing the life away from everything else. Dancing the joy away, steping in time to make everything ...silent.
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