Murdered soul will soon Reincarnate, my spirit Drives your coffin nails.
Were I to wipe your Stain from my shoe, still would I Require a shower
Lilac scent and the Lavender do not mask your Putrefying foul.
Your quisling, mealy mouth Entangles my death and life, In amber I freeze
Ignore what I say, Smear my face off your page, like I was never born.
Astride your high horse, Condescend your gaze on my Beetle-browed stupor.