The Fatal Flaw

Rats, they roam, down corroded pipes of chrome

Where mange of deranged is epitome

Of all the grudges flung by enemies

And all the daily bread they have to eat

Are castaways of death found on the street

To recant, they are very adamant

For superiority is their fault

And a belief to which that they shall fall

Made victims as blood runs rancid, yet sweet

And delivered they shall be to deaths feet

Self-righteous beasts demand tribune in feasts

With words as weapons, they set on their prey

Determined to rip and steal dignity

It is in their nature to hurt the weak

Desperate to assert their false physique 

One might presume these monsters hide in gloom,

They are closer to home than one may notice

In our towns and streets, hiding from focus

Wondering who they are, I think you know

That indeed we are our own greatest foe

The Traitor

-adj., a person who betrays a friend, country, or principle

Throughout the sky, steel birds laid eggs

They caused the land to smoke and bend

And high above the peoples' heads

Flew crooked crosses on sheets of red

And in the town there lay a man

Weighed to the ground by good intent

A gambler and a traitor

He bet his life on seven die

And high above the hidden eye

The rat, he hides from deaths demise

A novel room made just for him

To shield him from the lightning's grip

The Final Solution it seems

Immoral and irate, they deemed

Yellow stars lie on broken dreams

A souvenir of racist means

Knock on the door and hearts will race

And rats disappear without a trace

All that stands between him and death

Are the traitor and his good intent

Entitled men soon swarm in

A search it seams, the Frühers men

Past hidden stairs and back again

The house has not shared its secrets

And down the ladder, he can creep

The men are gone, he's safe it seems

He sits and eats his bare-ly soup

Thankful for his traitorous friend

Dangerous games, the traitor plays

To put such faith in gamboling

Where one mistake will be the end

Still, in death's grip, his life will end

Such good intent was outlawed then

And in the dark, the rat still hides

The years have gone by, 75 

Yet entitled men still hunt him down

With heavy boots to stamp him out