Soured Milk and Rotten Apples

I offer my apologies; if perhaps I may offend; But I’m burdened by atrocities; that seem to never end. The odor does precede them; as they approach my way; It’s the smell of one who meddles; that I’ve often seen each day. They’re filled with their opinions; that undermining my life; That gives them false pretensions; that they wield as if a knife. They are but a minion; that circles in the pond; And scavenge all those pieces; that are floating all around. I struggle with my burdens; while they spit straight in my face; And they hurl their vicious insults; as if offering me a grace. The paper in their pockets; says in God we trust; They consider it a warranty; for there decadence and lust. How many times will they come; come at me this way And How many miles must I walk; until they go away; They are doubtlessly a pestilence; attracted by my light; Wondering what there is to steel; when the sun goes down tonight. Depart from me you mongrels; it’s you that is the fool For the master of the life you chose; is a beast that is too cruel. Things for you will never change; and this life is where you’ll stay; You’ll stay here till this comes to end; and its then that you will pay.