Eight Lyrics & Chords By Marigold

Behold the masses
Armed with their vile words
Words that cut deeper than the sword
The orchestra of hecklers
Will never cease the ruckus
As I am no audience
Worthy of their acceptance
Do your worst my friend
For we shall meet again
My disease has stricken everyone
Twas I who made you ill
Now this body you wish to kill
But today is the day and I'm still mine
To me, the tears I see are gold
The hearts I've touched burn cold
And in the darkness of the midnight sun
I know, regardless, MY WILL IS DONE