You can certainly attempt to show me,
but I ain’t nearly one of your foul group,
easily led and then betrayed any moment,
constructing a poor contradicting array.
Nothing would come out right from your ugly holes,
just believing I’m as desperate as those underneath,
accessed and thoroughly depressed inside your service,
piling high them beholden fuel for weakening bonfires.
I know all too well as friends merely enjoy pretend,
while those pesky bills mount them above your cross,
formulating drowning victims to fight against rescue,
where I honestly don’t need to wash my hands before.
Burn a whole massive city,
upon that free candle of hazard,
into dust for your emotional hourglass,
thrust now with toy patrols,
diluted through blowing splinters,
over them dull rocks,
from your dry calculated garden,
an equilibrium of one very mean party.
We’re inhabiting clashing rims,
feeding each other’s camp with poison,
which these suppliers are immune,
yet hardly a comfort to the rest,
claws wrapped secure in your aquarium,
torn to strips at our bitter discretion,
because I ain’t about to propose my life,
and you sure won’t alter your appetite.
Sharwrong's Song 