Oh! Lord of Good Times
where in the fucking hell art thou
weren't you the cursed one to say
"you shall reap, as you sow"
Come out of hiding, you wretched thing
grinning behind the curtain of time
have you, I will, despite your chicanery
owe you no prayer, no word sublime.
Keep trying you may, to break my soul
even resent being born on this earth
hone your tools, train your devils
I leave it to none, to measure my worth.
Should you mistake, my graceful silence
as a licence to gloat and thrill
remember I'm a fighter, peaceful at best
at my worst, I enjoy the kill.
So come, unleash, bare it all,
go to your ugliest extreme
I will scatter, and I will gather
and the good of me, will reign Supreme.