That terrible truth has returned,
haunted by nightmares,
waking up more aware of the constant
despair that surrounds my cypher;
Shabby is itching to surface,
his efforts maybe needed to handle business;
skulls and bones in black and white
floats through layers of gray,
coasting overseas,
swimming through vermin and sin,
forgetting (refusing) to repent
because death may be the final end,
no purgatory or
life after death,
just incinerated flesh,
so revenge for lack of respect
is the only focus...