Pestilence upon us—dreary doom
I come for you, I’ll see you soon
Whimpers, crying—petulant gloom
Read the room, then poke the wound
I sate myself on misfortune
I’m glad it’s yours, we’re carnivores
Devour each other, consume your brother—
how delightful are these hor devours
For one must fall, so I stand tall
Equal footing—No, the gall!
To make you small, is what I foresaw,
and rule forever, above you all
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The Ragged Journal 
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