“Men are so simple and yield so readily to the desires of the moment that he who will trick will always find another who will suffer to be tricked.” – Niccolo Machiavelli
Thinking you would catch me in a *trickbag of a players game
Pushed to limits of civil thought, left with a criminal’s way
Laughing thinking that never the gun would flash and knife bleed
Lay down the weapons of flesh for the attack that brings to seed
A falcon’s wings now serve me better than a dragons breath
These three ends you chose for me: jails, institutions, and death
Homicidal fantasies I would loath to create a reality
I shun the sad you see I can never be your patsy
Flying high above the fray, killers killing each other to despise
I gather rising winds of peace beneath my tattered wings to rise
They almost had me, looking for a vulnerable spot with hate
Finding my weakness, a harbinger of danger to reveal my strength
They came against me as one, now they run in divided derision
I enjoy the meal now, prepared in the presence of their incursion
Freedom is mine once again, in spite of me, in spite of them
Caught away by spirits leading, the world of success my diadem
*trick bag – setting someone up to do things they would normally never do using peer pressure, elicit substances, alcohol, women, or whatever means to manipulate.
Opinions Of Eye 