You work like temptation.
Souls like yours produce money and smoke.
Your laugh is a trigger for gun shots,
a whisper for promises never kept.

I remember when you played the piano
horrible and tricked me to pay for it.
You were the thunder scaring children
in the dark, voice a shadow never there.

Dear Mister Black Magic, you took out the sun
and the zombies cheered for you with worship.
Who are those that follow you, proud of path?

My control slipped under the butter of my fingers.
A cut started to grow in my skin. The next day
it started to heal. Mother Nature learned my listen.
Teach me to walk unnoticed. My roar is louder
than a lions. We are inside. Keep it down.

This is not a jungle. Those teeth are too big
for this environment. Learn another lesson
about the value of an object.

Scratching somebody’s back isn’t worth gold.