The Art of a Despot
My heart is a despot
I'm desperate
Forgive me, Lord, for I have fallen
My heart, it spins
Their mind sins
Turning from my better judgement
[To evil's chagrin]
Her venom still spews
My mind loves dissent, and follows, in her shoes
I fall backwards into this darkness once more
There much to lose
Why pick-and-choose?
I'll lose my morals by night-fall
I live in dread
We're better off dead--
I'll live this frivilous lie, again, instead...
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