It is nights like these,
When I stand and look out at everything,
That I know neither moderation or mercy.
What am I to do when the stars painted on the ceiling tell me that I Control every game and every play made?
What am I to do when the neon lights on the slot machines tell me
That I am the house, and I always win?
Resistance is unbecoming,
And I can't just ignore what the they tell me.
So I slip my legs over the balcony railing,
Watching and waiting for my time.
All the while,
I feel no sympathy
And I regret no choices,
For, tonight, I do not care about mercy.
No one will be spared.