Bloodline
2 drops of blood just hit the floor,
contaminated forever more!
Blood so vile, grotesque, impure,
that mankind has not found a cure!
It courses through my every vein,
it marked my family with a cursed name.
The Pennington Brood is who we be,
this horrid tale passed down to me.
From who's hand, our cradle nudged,
who raised these growling hounds, from pups.
Who cauterized our early wounds,
who kept us all from boyhood tombs?
How did we all survive the grave,
to greet the sun this very day?
When oh so many others cried,
a sorrowful tear while others died.
Some loved ones died yet we did not,
we've yet to find our resting spot.
True soldiers passed, we stand unslain,
to carry forth this cursed name.
I say its cursed but thats untrue,
for beauty does abound here too!
Our seeds they bless the earth despite,
their parents being devoid of light!
Not that we are an awful lot,
but D.N.A. it stirs the pot.
Once poverty and childhood clash,
it makes for one disturbing past.
Things left unspoken, pain pushed aside,
children grow up broken yet full of pride!
When the crutch of pride finally crumbles,
the mightiest man is sure to stumble.
When you aren't shown love when you grow up,
how do you know love when it shows up?
Take the time to love your seeds,
or curse the very blood they bleed!
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