You do a fair job of killing me
With your false smiles and empty promises
Seek redemption elsewhere
Sinner, cast ye no stones at me
I see through you as if made of glass
Wanton sadist with a pretense of innocence
So consumed by your own trite reflection
A construct as false as the day is long
Pan's flute never played so lovely a song of seduction
Reflect upon your own evil as I break it and you into shards
Blood stained pieces no one and nothing can reassemble
I love you not!
Wear the mask of the martyr if you dare
I shall pluck it off to display the satyr beneath
The play is far from over.