You harness what was once a musical note used in repetition to create a tune known gloriously across this land and you rescind its meaning with your twisted design,
Wash those hands but know they can never truly be clean,
For you are just a stain of a human being,
Rot you will in the hole of damnation,
Fornicated by all those inside,
Plundered and killed for the pathetic little man you are,
A protector you should have been,
Not the violator you became,
Just be thankful for what little time you have,
For it it was me who was standing before you casting judgement,
You would surely be no more than a bitter memory,
Cast into whatever hells exist after this,
Not being favoured for the things you did beyond your sins,
For a sin,
Is a sin no matter what colour it’s painted!
