Man child, I am the hunter, what makes war with me, the son of man is my enemy. The source of love is my friend though i hate hope, I love the frightening sound of helicopters.
This is my curse, the world is my friend, the death of self is a friend, the love of self is a BASTARD. Contend not you son of Sam, I am the devil, the love of many does grow cold, try the Arctic Circle, don't sink into the ice.
Mercy, help, love, men, join, gone, hunt, death, light, young, better, death...and I wish to beat myself until the blood runs, and i am dead.
Feel the curse you evil man, Seth has born a wicked child, Cain is a symbol full of death.
This Eve is my garden, the garden is my death, suffer not the apple to be plucked, for i am but a prune.
Make love not war, Mr. Bush, find a bush and fuck it good until it moans and utters groans.