For them every good thing has a price They do not value a beautiful soul Only the messy words that can be squeezed from it When they're not ****** the body, or starving it Money money money All they love But I oughtn't call it love For them love is a commodity Its so obvious, but they're so evil they are oblivious The truest haters I've ever seen or smelled I won't feel bad to see them squashed Maybe then, a droplet of love will be squeezed from them Like the billion snails killed to make a liter of red dye Let the skies be filled with fire And the rivers with their blood Then I might find one drop of blue In this island of brown stains