<sup>[x] The dirty lord of the manor surveys his filthy domain. Too many nights raising hell worked a little all too well. Constructed a monument to denial and excess. Sunk so low, crawled so far back there's nowhere left to regress. If these walls could talk, they would tell a horror story. Never-ending winter, violence and infidelity. Shadows fall through broken panes, Careless words that are filled with hate. Just enough to keep it together, never enough to make it work. All the tongues here are forked. We are a hailstorm of broken glass, follow the path of least expectancy.

[x]A huge stinking pile of sick, pile it higher and higher. Light the match, start the fire. Level this place until nothing is left and take us with it. Surroundings are irate. Crack of dawn brings naught but pain. Resentment steadily grows. Laughing in the gallows.
Full throttle determined to fail, pedal to the metal asleep at the wheel. We are the lucky ones, welcome home. Poisoned nerves and a bloody antidote, Violence is not an aberration, it's a rule.
Dying beyond the pale. Your beatings will continue until my morale improves. I don't hate you, I'm just removing an enemy. Remorse is for the dead, my enemy. Remorse is for the dead.

[x] At a loss for something different to say, I've said everything, we've said it all before. An extra nail for your coffin. A gift from all the dead children, That are the progeny of your ballistic union. Borrowing from Peter to rape Paul, No news is good news, but I've got some news for you. Fetch me a rope, lynch mob of one.
An extra nail for your coffin. Certain blood has been shed for uncertain reasons. You will never quiet this storm, A cold wind to chill your bones. I bring the hammer down. Borrowing from Peter to rape Paul, No news is good news, but I've got some news for you. Fetch me a rope, lynch mob of one. Remorse is for the dead.

[x] Death lingering on thin strands. He steps forward intent on nothing. Chaos, murder, death, tyranny. Located in the small heart of yet another, a snort left the stags nares. Eager to catch something. His body embarked forward still, limbs clamoring over dying foliage, a pleased smirk was set firm. Stopping finally he made her mile. Searching for nothing but a toy. Something he could play games with. Ink stained carcous shone with such malice it was sickening. Though fairly appealing. He stood at ease dead center of the marsh, mud caked limbs pulled forward. Slinging the foul waste to and fro as he moved forward, intent on finding something decent to stand on. Clamoring up a small hill, he stood boa stiff. Pillars planted, vacant ooids taking in what little perfection he could find. "Perfect." quickly he reared up hopping to catch his balance. Thick limbs battered at the air, a shrill cry embedded into the atmosphere, These lands were to be his. Step quietly, for if he finds you, you'd be nothing but red, raw, and gone. Remember remorse is for the Dead.</sup>