Why is it so hard to trust?
Am I so proud that I must,
Take life in my hands and start to shape,
Some freakish creature of fear and hate

This creature will it’s maker kill,
Send his soul hard fast to hell.
Why then must I so oft’ create,
This hound of hell, of pain, and hate?

I say I love you, but then I doubt.
I shun within, and look without,
And know full well what I shall find;
A sinner soiled, crude unkind

Now frustration spins within,
This pride, this self, this wicked sin.
A cloud of grey and bloody mist,
My conscience curtains, clenches fist.

A harder heart, I now posses.
A heart that hates, and loves you less.
Colder now, so cold, colder still,
The pain, the pride, the person’s pill.