Crustaceans would be preferable to thee,
Omniscient, prescient, impotentheos,
A backwards gaveled book of make-believe,
When “just don’t be a cunt” is less verbose.
Convenient, to manipulate the wills,
Freebasing fallacy into their ears;
The easily impresséd imbeciles
Degraded to the front, and from their rears!
To conjure up an illusion of worth
Both yours and all the innocence corrupt
Before, after, and up until their birth,
Regardless if their hands are raised or cupped
In defense or hope some mercy might await.
Your eyes survey the table for a fork;
They beg you with their fists between the gate,
“Excoriate yourself, and spare the stork.”
To put this plainly, pedocidic cyst,
I’d hate you if I thought you might exist.