Lying asleep in my hell,
I saw my love over my cell,
glowing as shining stars,
brighter than flaming fires,
and as pale as worn-out pages.
He had this devilish look of a serial killer.
That I feebly admired for ages.
He has the wounds of a merciless fighter.
He was too bad to be a decent man,
, and too vivid for a dead man.
His thoughts were dark, but not as my deeds.
We both mastered the magic of playing in battlefields.
We survived many bombs together.
The bombs of life and the shells of its fire.
When anxiety knocked my door,
he slapped it by his bare hands
until his blood filled my entire pool.
When life tired his soul,
I found him looking for me between the haystacks.
My love only knew me as a cure.
With his bleeding hands
he paved me the way.
He did not care about the pain.
He just wanted to have me all along the way.
For him and I,
Despite of my stoned heart, I decided to stay.
Because simply love makes even devils partially obey
