Within me there’s such evil, such abyss

To put it out like a cigarette, oh what a bliss

A stench that pervades the room, no room for remorse

And dangling from the ceiling, a stiff, cold corpse

No art in the murder, no thrill and no fun

Beyond the horizon, no beauty in the rising sun

Just that thirst that needed to be quenched, so unsatisfying

Within me all withers, all marvel’s slowly dying

I killed just to kill, down my spine runs a chill

It just keeps on going, keeps on turning like the mill

And once the threshold’s passed, there is no turning back

To the boring old life where the power’s off track

To be God for one day was the initial appeal

But then, as time passed, I just wanted to make them squeal

And each time it grew less fun, the intervals got shorter

The ideas got less high-strung, I started to quarter

Now I’m left a wreck of a man, my heart, my brain, they’re all gone

And I sit cowered in a cell where the sun never shone

I can’t repent, I can’t ask for forgiveness, I don’t want to be liked

So I shall die as the monster I am, with these the last words that I typed

And thus spoke Zarathustra.

Or should he have kept his mouth?

One foot across the line.

It’s all over.

I’m out.

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