Stamp on it, l’ll be fine,
Just a speed-bump on your way to hell,
Ambition is for the divine,
That’s just how you sell
Your sob story and corrupt core.
Drunken nights, churlish cries,
Stable thoughts, wayward walks,
Smoked up despair, twice or thrice
Your fresh footprint on my heart talks
Louder than its absence at my door.