i can see you constantly grinning, basking leisurely, in your miserly procession, leading to failure, your paving the footsteps towards iniquity, this has got to be the end of this indigenous persecution, of innocence, can we not find condolance for the ones in which we share our street number, don't roll your eyes, stare in the mirror, go, flea, save yourself, without modesty the end is coming, id surely die trying.