My words are a poison, pick them perfectly, preferably with passion and pleasure.
You might just get a treasure.
But find me with your irony, your ivory tower and ignorance and I'll watch as both eyes rot out of your head.
Who did you think was running this show?
God's a hobo with a list of fetishes, vices and curses;
He ain't afraid to use them, bruise them or let them die.
Look into his eyes, do you see a smile or your demise?
I'll let you in a secret, so long as you keep it,
Which won't be hard where you're going.
So listen close, while the hounds of hell nip at your feet,
I'll only say this one, so listen well...
...****, he fell.