Ticking away, the time that owes us blood

A distinct galaxy must have

Lipsticks for men and women to kiss where they didn't **** little children and destroy cities

Now again

It's good to hear yourself far away across the street

The softly spoken death sentence

Then screams of abstinence, reoccurring tones of vocal chords tearing up to merciless stretch.

It's a huge shape to draw by a poor weary man

So he decides to join the twisted fate of craze

And then he is forced to the back
The demon whispers "sorry we are full of ordinary man, we don't need more murderers"

Put that thought next to problem 8, a bunch of scribbled lines