Perfect man, so clad in cold;
Eyes so dead, yet far from old.
Icy breath forms on your lips,
Condensing into foreign wisps.
You claim this world is fabricated,
Unjustice reigning with predetermined redemption;
The capital cows creaming us for our talents
And not for the sake of our human hearts.
You pray and ploy and play as God,
With tainted logic, cracked and flawed.
In righteous indignation's stead,
Black-hearted treason consumed your head.
