The water is racing towards the drain like a horse chasing the path to victory as the foam is getting shoved off my face.
The razor, a warrior, sets up his shield as he prepares for war, a begins to yield.
The cities on my face stay at ease Why the calmness in fear's place? It must be satisfying, knowing you'll be replaced.
So the blade kissed the side of my head ruins and rubble, ever so smooth. As if Caesar returned to avenge himself from a dastardly betrayal, many hairs remain for I am feeling generous, as I stroke my mane.