In truth you're still and evil child,
you cheat, you steal, and claim your rights.
In loss, you're always a victim.
In gain, your light is never dimmed.
In fairness you always decline,
It's never fair without a lead.
You mock, you jest, you lie, you swine,
never admitting your guilt or deeds.
Truth is such an ugly word,
so straight and inclined to debt.
Never easy to bear or gird,
you dust it under the carpet.
If there's no gain to gather there,
you let your eyes go briefly blind.
Your ragged shadow was never there,
your mind murders and lies: "its fine".
Your own words you never believe.
Your eyes and smile only deceives.
Your trust is really never earned,
nor shared or found, thanked or given.
How far can you dwell on empty clouds,
how high can your treason abode,
how long can your hands juggle,
with what you never grappled.
But our bests in stones are mocked by birds,
your plaque unread, glory never heard.
On the throne of your malignancy,
they shit their early worm on thee.
You leave a trail of smoke and ashes.
You live on sore heart and hatred.
Your illusions can bring you far,
but never farther than your own fall.