Killing My Savior

I was hoping for an old phantom to walk by the grave of my dripping painting stone.

The kind to make a musical tone fit in with the horrid screeches throughout the qualms in code.

A flickering flame painted my blame; the stone knew why the old man laid still on the hillside plains.

"Silly old fool, the kind to get killed for a duel." The voices echoed, but no one's near, the kind to be in a haunting cheer.

"So his death was a wish, a kind thing for us kids." We all walked away knowing what we had did.

A flickering flame painted my blame; I cremated the man that saved me from my pitiless shame.

Now his teachings blow away as his soul haunts the day, I wish ignorance was not the game that I played.