blacksheepBob

Misery

Killing with words you seem to take pride

False are your accusations , you stifle my mind

So much you hate and so little time 

You keep pushing on me , keep pushing me down

No glory to come from what you derive 

People are pawns for your sick little mind 

Just what will you harvest when its your time 

A field of hate that becomes your own mind 

Old and alone in your due time 

Eaten up with the misery you wanted to be mine