BAD SEED

I'm a bad seed
In the ground
I'm a runaway son
From the war

Sick love, don't go away from me
And sick love don't miss my memories

I'm a bad seed
In the ground
Digging my own grave
Into my own place

But sick love, try to close your eyes to me
And sick love nevermind my letters of happiness

I'm a bad seed
I'll have bad fruits in my tree
'Cause I was born here
And thorns grows
Where flowers would grow instead

* Esse é o último poema dos Glorious Results Of An Weird Youth