Wars rage in my skull
I’m enraged and unfed
Constantly fleeing my debts of death and unsaid
I can’t make bets that they’re right, because they’re always right
They’re all definitely right
They’re shaken with fright
From the blight of my actions
All they ever wanted, Was to offer me gold,
Which percolated from deep within the cracks of their palms that were held wide open
They dressed in all white, while I dressed all black.
My insides are black and my eyes are magenta
You would never believe that my head has it’s own detailed corrigenda
And believe it or not, this whole time, my agenda,
Was only ever to retrieve an achievement of bliss.