I think ive strangled him, and left him dead,
The second one inside my head,
The fool romantic, the Rosey dense,
From with in me he use to come hense,
But no longer, I've smoked him out,
And crushed his neck I've ended his rout,

This flight, his dodge from my iron foot,
Ends today the point's now moot,
For even if pity, i saw in his eye,
For something as his hands let him die,
I shall not ponder what it meant,
For I, the rational have won and he has went