We feast at the soul. Those who have none just starve themself of hope and desire.
Manipulative some stay and seductive some play
but others are just prey. It is yet until the predator finds a new way each and everyday to twist
and distort the normal cat and mouse game.
Once all the mice are worked up and anxious it’s the prey’s time
to join them but not in a little play along.
The prey loves to degrade and ultimately it’s the tears they crave.
Watch the knife as it’s sliding down our prey’s chest,
see the blood drain just like red rain. Stitch it up with lies and let the truth
have a place to hide but never let it come out or else it’ll be your eyes you have to sacrifice.
You still cry and your tears fall down your face into the roots of your tree.
But it is not you, it’s them growing the tree.
Constantly making you water the tree only they don’t know how high up you’ll grow and within
that second they’ll look up and see you hanging.