Mine’s the only name that you will see upon my hit list,
is this normal or immoral…
for me to be all three, the culprit, victim, and the witness?
It seems I better fix this, morality in stitches,
but I suppose that no one knows…
unless I open up and spill the cup about my business.
Twenty years to face my fears, submit a bit to fitness,
I lose to win, confused by sin…
forever in the shadow of the battle doused in thick mist.
My mirror’s on my shit list, I need to act with quickness,
I shoot to give and aim to live…
the hardest target, must I market ransoms for this sickness?
If I win I’ll be a bit pissed, but to lose there’s no forgiveness,
so tarnish me with garnish leaves…
or clear my plate and wipe my slate, this fate I’d never wish it.
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