Disgusting speed,
For every word a dirty deed,
And so they say,
Take a week or month,
But you need more than a day.
For it to go away,
But it couldn't be,
What it never was.
No war was waged,
a year in silence,
No penance paid.
With a dirty tongue,
Something wicked's bound,
To this way come.
Then we'll see,
If we both have to crawl from the bottom
It's there we meet.
Eye to eye and bent on some bedlam.
The coast was clear,
Turned out to be a cynic's year.
With a dirty tongue,
Something wicked's bound,
To this way come.