As killers tend to know the ones they kill

it's us not others, whom we need to fear

A selfish love, a high pyschotic thrill,

turns organs inot ornaments, my dear

But none of us are earthquakes-our faults

signs destruction waits beneath a shallow crust.

Humanity's a dance floor spiked with mines

you learn the steps, but you're a foul to trust.

Yet even the most rotten, callous soul. Who'd

slaughter half the world without remorse, has needs

and longing out of her control, and jot and

comfort have to have a source. what signifies

how safe we both shall be? Not who you

are, but who you are to me.