If you prick us do we not bleed?
If you tickle us do we not laugh?
If you poison us do we not die?
(And) If you wrong us shall we not revenge?

Foul is fair - fair is foul,
hovering through fog and filthy air
are thoughts of blood red anger
born of this obscene epiphanic scene

Society (must) have eaten from the insane root, that takes the reason prisoner
to riddle all the wrong answers of what has to be and no to be

We didn’t stop to fear our neighbors
The border stone has never been removed
War all along was what we sought
henceforth An ethic cleansing, at one fell swoop

There are daggers in my words.
The sharper phrased
the nearer bloody

So Come dagger, let me clutch thee,
to venesect the limb of this sick society

By the pricking in my thumbs, something wicked this way...comes

Hell hath no furry than the human condition methinks
Never delivered from evil, mere dagger spells redemption
even though the redeemed doth protest to much

If you prick me I will/do not bleed!
If you tickle me I will/do not laugh!
If you poison me I will/do not die!
As you’ve wronged I shall seek revenge!

Foul is fair - fair is foul,
hovering through fog and filthy air
are thoughts of blood red anger
born of this obscene epiphanic scene

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