A tearful squeeze to appease the screams, and release the dreams of a thief.
Humbly washing my hands of the blood of the lamb, i am what i am.
Discrete.
With love for man, the hand has turned the other cheek.
Free will is obsolete against a scripted destiny on repeat.
Talk is cheap as i complete my feats with the creep of wolves among sheep.
Wear their eyes in compliant surprise, walking blindly into the blade.
Defy their demise, stalking, and tryingly to portray the fate of choosing.
Flawed in the ways to delay the winner losing.
Baited and switched
Self redirected
The wicked enriched
In the city's burn