My thoughts can kill. In the park with my God- music,
quietly sizing people up from a public bench.
My evil genius plans, I’ve never pulled off.
I won’t be owned by no man. It’d be easy to blame you.
It’d be easy to blame every god-damned single person here, passing by my bench.
My new old ray gun, could vaporize you.
Then one right after another I’d steal the breath from the rest. in a quite elegant domino-esque effect.
But it’s not you it’s me, I get bored playing God.
I’ll find the next ditty to worship. And claim no allegiance to mankind.