Once my tongue was tired from invective it hurled
At myself, I figured I'd turn it on the world –
That mother who such a giving soul raised
Only to fill it with demonic malaise,
That would send such a sect of sinners such a friend as you,
Then, wordless, with half a glance, remove her too.
To call the world cruel only gives it half-credit.
It's a place of beauty, took for granted 'til it's shredded.
At myself, I figured I'd turn it on the world –
That mother who such a giving soul raised
Only to fill it with demonic malaise,
That would send such a sect of sinners such a friend as you,
Then, wordless, with half a glance, remove her too.
To call the world cruel only gives it half-credit.
It's a place of beauty, took for granted 'til it's shredded.
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