The largest thorn of the thicket comes constant to my side...
My attempts to remove have only placed in through my hand.
My prayers are weakened as I am bound by pain.
By hatred my ode to you, is but a psalm to them all...
All whom can relate...all whom can hate.
Find me, my grace! Lest you hide from my dark passenger,
The horned monkey on my back...
Be it that my words climb and crawl from dark crevices
They come only to be held at bay.
My words howl for action.
Yet my threats are empty until I fulfill them.
It is the although and now that make them into promises.
Come close so I may place one of your thorns in your brittle veins,
Allow me to play my hand just once and bring you to agony.
Your life will never be mine, but you will know my hatred of you.