Solution Prospects Grow Bleak and Weak

Leave free agents alone Bully For they’ve got no time to be the clone You hurt truly and deeply In games without aim Where you torture and suture at will Treating victims the same Way happiness you steal To boost your roost Bereft of sympathy Milking hearts reduced To torture telepathy Leaving them reeling in horror At the reckless manner In which you unleash terror Brandishing the indifference banner Spelling and selling in no uncertain terms Your manifesto That regurgitates your germs Spread and read pronto As with gangrenous glee You lick your lips Watching victims flee From your wanton whips and trips Knowing not whether you love or hate Folks whose bliss blocks, clocks and stocks you break In your haste to waste the best They offer you morning and night in the trek You undertake to swell your ego Diminishing and squashing their self concept As to their detriment your alter ego does undergo A transformation in which your favourite precept Condones wantonness and abandons happiness In favour of sadism pushed to the limit Where you grow sadness As you ascent to victims’ destruction when they approach your ambitions’ summit Where destruction becomes inevitable Hope and comfort grow weak Remonstration becomes redoubtable And prospects for solutions grow rather bleak.