Store bought soul- black, like freshly mined coal; burns to comfort the devil in chains, soothed by evil flowing as tar through his veins- collapsing under the weight of a fools tendency to hate. Try to save me motherfuckers, but I tell you, it's too fucking late- unless you like to emotionally masturbate. Don't try to bond with me, because, trust me, we do NOT relate. Everything good about you or me is something that one should sedate into oblivion; who said we had decisions? All I got is blood dripping visions of you leaving me the fuck alone. Woman, your love isn't like water flowing over my heart-shaped stone, just air, nitrous filled with laughter. And no, slut, I certainly don't like your brother. Don't dance, there's no chance of my cock rising to the occasion- but I just might be inspired to flash silver and make the fatal incision deep into you 'n turn your face blue.