Kitsch Poem by Cunctus Cope

I will sear your memory cells when I realize who settles the score
People may mourn if they're caught off-guard, but they'll see it's just a bore
We're all busy dying, but I'll agree with our lady Ayn Rand
I will indulge in rational selfishness to forget where you stand

Baby, take your gavel and make my scalp as raw as your wounds
That I made - the ones you have bade
Sugar, belabor me with the rhetoric of seven trumpets
For the greater good - all that could and should
All that would if not for me
Don't excommunicate me - can't heal an infection on a defection

What gives me the right to dismiss your word if your thoughts aren't always clean?
Only debauchery can counteract benevolence to create the golden mean
Now all I encompass is adolescent angst, my bad luck is my shame
Just recite your disclaimer before I take this as gospel, not a game

Honey, pop me in the kisser for not donating to charity
For a good cause - Not acknowledged applause
Or you taking back what's been said
Girl, lobotomize me so I'm not a perverted creep
That thinks too deep - that dreams of this in sleep
As well as rehearses this in his head

Prometheus has sympathetics
Satan has sick supporters
Hitler has his followers
But none think well of me
As long as I know what I did
As long as you remain
You will never leave my mind
Is a pervert all I'll ever be?