Many spaces take abundant weight.
Voids are made by a critical hate.
Tear me down to raise your sword,
now break me down now call your Lord.
Wrath is a trait for the gods of toys
who in the void break down destroy.
Are you shinning in the sun pretty?
If you are you watch to soon be petty.
I don’t like your smirk of indirect talk,
I don’t like the shit you exude in your walk.
I know the world is full of pain stain
a pain of glass breaks my blood rains.
Broken mirror I’ve done a bad thing
to myself none other but your words bring
me to my wits end as you direct your
wicked choir to sing what it sings.
I know of the world the way people hurt,
buried in dirt we will all pay a price.
Whether you want to play nice is up
to you and you’re wicked games device.
Words are abundant for you to use.
What is the daily way of your virtue?
All others as you pick and choose,
hang my hat with me on my noose.