The image has lack of proportion Deep inner well of inspiration It's a master stroke seduction
Like the chains of winter Foaming out your own shame Now you know life's no game But will you ever be the same
To think you believed you knew it all It was artful keeping you anxious Suffering pain and degradation With every breath that is drawn A perpetual blessful Hell
Insanity when a person enjoys But it's really hurting himself You're a distorted fanatic You love to hurt yourself