The Acacia Strain

src="../pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/show_ads.js">
And I dream in black and white and red. The last time I saw you, your head was on a spike, still screaming her name. Still cursing the day that I was born. Yet nothing has changed. Or do I still ask you for help? No. Then stop asking me for forgiveness, because I cannot bleed until my dreams come true.