|Conscience is the inner voice that warns us that someone might be looking.|

Firing neurons and synapses, the brain collapses and lapses...
intrigued by... foreign stimuli from that nice guy creating a racket.
I'm here for a meal... salmon ala mode garnished with dirty habits,
As I pollute my body with fats, it's not just a hunger run rampant,
but a way to drown fate I reminisce over a mistress who has a name,
that refuses to resonate throughout neither my throat nor ribcage.
It creates pain through my cerebrum and tattered, battered cortex,
spinning in this windy city like the decrepit trash caught in a vortex.
Shoving crumpets down my maw, working my jaw with ferocity,
calories igniting memories speeding through my mind in high velocity,
I wonder why I ever thought...
that the nice guy finishes last,
leaving old flags for now widowed wives on weather-worn doormats,
then despite all the warnings, I'd run then return to take advantage,
planting the seeds of deceit that thrive on the needs of the planet...
Sleeping with these women, after I deliver a hope-crushing message,
I once was so light on my feet, but this world now seems so heavy...
Flourishing on envy, remembering how I had forced children to watch,
as I corrupted and tainted the sainted maiden they call their mom.
My newfound morals rebel against me, speak the undeniable truth,
unrelenetless in their assault, forcing me to retire to my lonely room,
permeated with forlorn gloom, each of my belts now utterly useless,
all covered in nocks, they remind me of the starry sky now moonless.
I remembered being on top of the world, but it's true that it rotates,
and if someone is watching me...well then...
it's not with any new hate.

"I love food," screams the masochistic dolores-skull, shoving birdseed into his nostrils and yelling simultaneously with a thousand dead parrots.

FIN.