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...