Pain, is a funny thing
Yet it seems to sing
As you suffer and beg
Until you pay an arm and a leg

I’m sorry for what I am
But I cannot change what’s on the cam
What happened, happened, so drop it
Or must you dwell on dirty bits?

If I could change myself, I would
But I can’t, and that pains me as it should
I’ll probably get arrested for what I’ve done
But that doesn’t make a difference, because they have already won.

It’s so easy to satisfy an addiction,
Especially if it’s plastered all over in perfect diction.
They unknowingly show the images
And can hardly tell the differences.

The forbidden fruit is all around
In schools, in parks, and in towns
That’s what makes it compelling
And everything else repelling

It is a disorder as real as dyslexia
And as incurable as dementia
One should not despise them
As much as sympathize for them

They are victims, just as their targets
And it’s never as brutal as the jargon
They post. They desire love and friendship
But it always crashes and burns like the Concorde airship

Its real and it must be consoled
Unless you want several more paroled
To no avail and have repeaters
Back on the streets like reapers

The desire pulls
But the law makes the rules
And my own soul tells me it’s wrong
But all I want to do is sing my song

I’m sorry, God, but I tried my best
I guess that this was just too hard of a test
I’ll try to repent, but I’m probably going to Hell
But I won’t stop trying until the tolling of that bell.