A Different Taste
Those hateful green eyes. . .
I’ve seen more color in blacks and grays than in your bottomless hell
You call yourself a true friend?
With you, I’ve never been more ignored!
I had once begged for your attention,
But now I dread it
You’ve found the bad in me
And now you present it
I want to call you out till the life returns in those heartless eyes
Till you taste the red blood of thousands you have shed—
Till real tears free you from the glare of your green
We shall mix and match and make new, oh I promise you—
We will make bright yellows together and call it justice
I’ll turn your vanity into desperate prayers
Try your glares—I’ve got nastier snares
What is it in those canny, green eyes
That makes you hate the very air that gives you life?
You inhale kind souls with that glare of ingratitude
Spitting them out with disgusting, aftertaste claims
Oh, you know so well not to take in mine anymore
That bitter Wormwood that’s got your taste, bud—
Well it’s got nothing on me
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