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The abuses in history for life,

Love displaying futility in proverbs,

So raring to erode charisma,

Even one's blood matters little now,

The conquering and begetting of wisdom,

A triumph only tantamount to its own decline,

As words faltered into nothingness to become otiose,

Fantasy seems to have finally gained enough momentum,

A maiming corpse is not far to seek,

But a pound of flesh should mean nothing to me,

For no momentary pleasure is worth,

A future indebted to resentment,

Murder, murder, murder...

Forever etched in my heart...