To love the ones I've murdered,
I've found I cannot do,
I gave the gift of life,
Then passed the knife to you.
While words cannot encompass,
And no action could explain,
I wish I could condemn myself,
And steal from you this pain.
If St. Peter has his pearly gates,
Closed to sins of man,
I know I've damned the two of us,
While our child sleeps in that land.
Small mercy though it seems,
Or, perhaps it's none at all,
At least it's just you and I,
Damned to hell, to fall...
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