All this pain, is turning me evil,
Many a wish, make me squeamish,
To relish their guilt, to make them wilt,
But I want none, no wicked fun,
I want to shut, have them cut,
Throw these dark thoughts, in marble pots,
The pots I want to keep sealed,
"But have a feast, strike their heels,"
From me, within comes a whisper,
And "No", to that voice I whimper,
I know I can ruin and own the dawn,
But the products of tyranny,
Are in a twinkling gone,
So I cut open my stomach,
At my heart's behest,
Malevolence, spite, malice,
I wait till my stomach digests,
Shovelling all till nothing misses,
Take a burning needle,
I stitch my stiches,
As long as I keep them in,
I live, oh I live free from sin.
