The dialect of pain

This wound of pain
Was cut to deep
It is still sore

Where to first lay the blame
Was is left but shame
I could never tame

Dry sorrow , so cruel
Worse than drinking gruel
Why again , are you so

I cry out ,inside there is no joy
You like a thief , stole my happiness and joy
You like a murderer , killed my heart

I wonder if the blood spilled will be like milk
Like milk spilled not to be cried for
Not to be loved again , not to be cried for

The long and painful state of my wound
I cry with blood , and breathe with tears
Alas , this likeness of death .