CONSCIOUSNESS

High up in the mountains,

where the Astor grows wild.

There a special abode,

with everything beside it.

The blades aren't rusty,

they are wiped clean as new

I pick my victims carefully;

They are a selected few.

Guns were never my style,

they're a quick shot to the head.

Let them moan and suffer,

knives are more pleasing instead.

Their sarcastic smiles disappear,

It looks more like a frown.

When you slit them under the ribs

and

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hang them upside down.

Let them hang there in the breeze

till their eyes are filled with blood.

Then dig a grave while they still can see

just before you lay them in the mud.

Let them be conscious as they bleed

Bleed for every tear.

Till they have paid for every ounce

of exploitation, cruelty and fear.

Hell is but here, in their heaven,

for those who stabbed me in the back.

For my time has finally come

to repay the favor back.......