First you want me then you spit on me
Call me old and stuff
**** my baby duck
Make me cry tears of blood
So I get drunk on your sweet and sour memories
No home no nothing left but derision
Worked hard then it all goes up in smoke
Jokes on me
Regrets I collect attrition
Threats crash course up ahead
Gold stolen wasted by quack demon deacons
Suffering ******* is my fate
Isn't it Great?


D. Clare