As killers tend to know the ones they kill
it's us not others, whom we need to fear
A selfish love, a high pyschotic thrill,
turns organs inot ornaments, my dear
But none of us are earthquakes-our faults
signs destruction waits beneath a shallow crust.
Humanity's a dance floor spiked with mines
you learn the steps, but you're a foul to trust.
Yet even the most rotten, callous soul. Who'd
slaughter half the world without remorse, has needs
and longing out of her control, and jot and
comfort have to have a source. what signifies
how safe we both shall be? Not who you
are, but who you are to me.