Murder means oil for Bush's coffer

Roguery brews in the depths- feel like going to war? Offer suburban concrete blood of whore? Perhaps bash pedestrians with a car-door? Can already smell the scent of curdling gore and taste the lipstick that most abhor. Murder creeps in silence, without screams- only gasps from stifled breathing. Embrace the storm slowly seething, give life and vigor to taboo dreams. Its healthy- and good for the economy. (good to have an excuse to engage in open abuse) Its a lot like gardening; weeds need to be pulled, and soil enjoys shovels stir. Donate corpses- Bush needs more oil for his jeweled coffer. Teach the meek to rock'n'roll. Enforce population control- Jesus says its good for the soul. Coked out grim-reaper on the prowl, head covered in the glowin cowl. Iron scythe damp from a night's incising, graveyard shift ended with the suns rising. Upset the calm stillness, make America pure. blade or projectile- murder is a cure isn't it fun to be hostile? Everyman owns a shadow; from darkness comes light, flee and it will only follow.