| He was a young man, his life just begun
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| But never felt young
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| His parents hurt him and stole his childhood
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| Beat it out of his young mind
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| Dad was a veteran and alcoholic and so violent
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| Mother just sat there watching the TV
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| Her only words hate, she paid no notice to him
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| He couldn’t love her, if she died he wouldn’t care
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| So now he’s so cold with no emotion
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| And no one matters
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| All that he can feel, merely physical
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| He thinks that is emotion
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| (He feels nothing)
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| Day to day lusting after flesh
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| Feeling satisfied with penetration
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| All the girls in his mind
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| Fantasy merely postpones his wrath
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| Acting out, soon follows
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| Walking dead women, waiting to die
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| Fingernails embedded deep into flesh
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| Straddling his body gyrating slowly
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| Soft hair flows over ripe breasts swaying gently
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| Her screams of ecstasy, not fear this time
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| Digging through her garbage
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| Searching for something
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| Picking through remnants of her daily patterns
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| Discarded tampon, telephone bill stub, last night’s dinner
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| His heart growing fonder with every load he takes
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| Dreaming of what is to come for this girl
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| Her broken ripped flesh, swollen on his penis
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| Upon his discovery of her depressive state
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| Of existence, her sorrow
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| His attention to her growing stronger
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| More obsessive, she’s his
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| His collection now nearing completion
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| He knows everything
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| His parents are blamed, his mis-perception
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| They created his problems
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| His mind is feeble, like a rape machine
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| Sex is what drives him
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| His first is special, and so beautiful
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| She doesn’t know what’s coming |