Stafford. If Your Weapons Could Speak. Zeneszám

If your weapons could speak, they'd scream to me between dying breaths. Overuse has ravaged them, and your sleeve is so bloody from the stolen hearts you've pinned upon it. [Get a new hobby. Get a new hobby. I'm leaving, and I'm not cleaning up this mess. ] Oh, the damage I've witnessed... the souls that won't remain. Don't cry anymore, your tears have stained my hardwood floor. All that's left inside you is a bottle with a note that reads: "I can never trust. I will never love, and I will never be free."