i can't follow the crowd
the crowd will lead you all the way
i wear my lonely shrowed
and in the shadows i shall stay

i am the king of worms
i hold the dirt on wich you walk
with all my scars and burns
the whipping boy to wich you fault

this burden that i hold
holds all the pleasure i can carry
i'm neither young or old
yet my bones are weak and weary

rid me of this life
you only bring hurt to yourself
and with your crooked knife
you pave the road that ends at hell.

i live inside your thoughts
in time i'm sure you'll let me free
when the polite thing haults
open your mind and you shall see.

By: Andy Slate

�All rights reserved by Andy Slate.