Foolish thief, you dared to steal the knife only to trip and get yourself stabbed. It's stuck in your lungs, making every breathe unbearable, cutting deeper into you each passing second.

Wheezing... I feel pity for you, thief, cause what you steal you cannot keep, and it only ends up killing you and killing what cherishes you most, in the name of what? of love ? your madness is like that of a painter who desperately seeks that one shade of red he has never been able to see in his art.

Better embrace the pain, cause those words of heaven you wish to hear will not be spoken from those lips you drank from, and even before your agony is over, the knife, cleansed from your blood, will be back on it's sheath where it belongs...