Favourite Death Poet.

Silver blades reflect a face
Smooth and sharp in pale light
A face with tears in its eyes
Blades still gleaming in the night

It is not for my heart to say
With night this tragedy will end
But now a shadow darkens day
Against which I cannot defend

I am a man long out of luck
The fleeting muse has been bled dry
Against my wishes I am stuck
Inside a dark and hopeless lie

So now I look upon a blade
Of icy silver stained with blood
To end this lie despair has made

As I embrace the crimson flood