My idiopathy.

By
One's perspective on things can really Change a person,
You're Just a Misdemeanor In My eyes,
Nothing More than A moral, A chapter in My place.
Were you the thing that Everyone's warned me About?
You're probably just a cancroid, uncurable.

Everytime I hear that you're somewhere Near by,
Everytime I remember All the dispicion,
No one has Ever caused me this much grief,
It's like you've shot a burst of cardialgia right At me.

I'm done with The manipulation, We need to complect Everything that's happened,
Does any of This Make you feel any better?
Not even your own brood recognizes you anymore.
You've caroused your way into this lifestyle, You're intoxicated into your own coop.
You Have everything, your own concourse to help you out of things,
But you still covet what we have; you've lost your dignity.





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