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