~Slave to the needle~
~Slave to the needle~
We sit in my room
You, and I alone,
Far away from
Your comforts, of home.
I fell your blood rise
As my machine begins,
To feed.
Your design or mine,
I do not care.
The world walks by,
But I am stuck in my chair.
Far away from every day life,
Time is passing me by.
Welcome to my world.
Were the air is tainted
By the pieces, of souls, I collected
Through out the years.
My machine becomes alive,
As my hand begins to bleed
You, make my art come alive.
I twist, and pull, off pops a little
Piece of your soul, given to
Me on the day my needle
took control, and chipped
A piece off your soul….
~Inkmaster~(c) 2009
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