The Angel's Game
A writer can never forget this one day,
the day, when his soul has been sold:
some money was offered for stories he wrote,
he heard many compliments told.
And I was there, too, when I was so young,
I knew that my heart held a spark.
And I wouldn't know it, and I wouldn't see,
That my future would be so dark.
But I will have none, no money nor fame,
'cause my life's nothing more than an angel's game.
My expectations were always so great,
but reality put them all down.
I lost all my friends, I lost all my hope,
The words I wrote weren't my own.
Then he came to me with his predator smile,
He said: 'Write a religion, my friend.'
If only I had known the book that I wrote
will be a beginning of the end.
And no one will ever remember my name,
'cause my life is no more than angel's game.
I met her again, I lost her again,
I loved - but then she was gone.
I don't know who killed her - perhaps it was him.
Again, I was left alone.
And then the world shattered, the nightmare came true,