Blood on thy hands

Blood on thy hands:
They'll never rid of that dirt,
Let thy ice heart melt
As I unravel thy fate.
If a man could carry
as much blood as he,
Then how could thy hands,
of blood ever free?
Madness of mind,
Will thee succumb to,
If you ahead with this deed:
And forward king to his tomb
Would thee use thy kind milk;
'Less that milk hath turned sour
To cure this madness
For one sane hour?
To let it make sense
Once again
Of the world that bares
not just thy murd'ring blood pen
But of things such as sanity,
never feeling suicidal
And having something more
Than monarchy as thy idol
But, jealousy is banished
In this wonderful world,
Making thou dear, inadequate,
No more 'a black pearl
Aye, your death, my lady
Hath small impact on thy lord,
But his fate yet
Is to be explored.
So calm yourself dear;
take a hold on thy knife:
Slash yourself; release thy guilt
And succumb to the light