A Perfect Circle Poem by Twisted Moon

There is them
Crows on the power lines, each with a reason to hate me
To castrate me
There is me
A shadow in the ashes of an arsonist
A white fly in a thick mist
A slave to what I can't resist
Me
The reason heaven as rejections
My life
A perfect circle of imperfections
Made of rain and slate
Of pain and hate
Going around and around
Making the same mistakes and the same sounds.

And this is all justified
I have hurt, cheated and lied
And it will not be over once I have died
No
The crows will not be satisfied
Until I am fried.