I have a vendetta.
No, I’ve had one.
For some years.
Something needs to be done.

I yearn for a solvent.
To get this over with.
But it seems that I will have it forever.
Even to the death.

To you, this is no democracy.
One way, or the highway.
It has to go in your favor.
No matter what I say.

“Dictator.”
Your middle name.
“Tyrant.”
Your types are all the same.

It’s always a one way path.
A one way street.
Your one of those “ Take over the world,” people.
One I try and try to defeat.

I do what I can.
But is just not enough.
I’ve tried the peaceful way.
To try and make-up.

But, of coarse, it failed.
What was I thinking.
My plan would not work.
It simply expelled.

Now it’s to the hard way.
This you will not like.
Now it’s up to me.
To stand up and fight.

Do I go to the law?
No, I must do it on my own.
This way, it’s simple.
It’s down to the bone.

I devise a plan:
I have to do what is right.
But you turn me away.
Just out of spite.

Now I’m old.
Not knowing what to do.
The problem still stands.
So I must still ensue.

I only have a minute to live.
The problem unsolved, no doubt.
I never resolved it in my whole life.
It didn’t work out.