Many of us have nothing better to do

Than antagonize others under shoes

Within which they walk through mud

And then smear on carpets with blood



They extract hatefully from other people

With empty syringes and plunging needles

Why they choose to involve themselves

In these crimes of the heart which sell



Only venom which they spout forthwith

In torrents which deal out hate and fear

Is quite beyond all full comprehension

And just fills the air with more tension



- Tristram