First Place

I’d rather claw out my eyes than look him in the face
And when it comes to heartache, I’d give him a taste
If he were the last man on Earth, I’d disappear without a trace
But when it comes to suffering, I’m still in first place

I’d cut out his tongue and replace his black mask
I’d point him to sorrow and long may he bask
Where demons grow hollow where angels come last
And forgiveness is something he never will ask

© Delia Ross. 2020


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