Blast my way through this oil slick, your not the only one with a boomstick.
Office towers fall and sink holes open the road, the tyrant is about to explode.
Standing ten stories tall, my tulpa wipes the unclean away, nothing to make it fall.
Yes it could of been done the easy way, but you cast the of finger blame my way,
So now here we are, a city destroyed by its own anger, violence, don’t pander …
… my intention was clear, I want what you stole, seven years of my soul.
Humiliation turns revenge, and in the end, there was no other way for it to be.
D March 2017