By seeing the true you,
I think you've been angry or even blue.
He finds it hard to be in love,
Overshadowed by the great labors of before.
Who is that being in my life?
I think he likes to use a switchblade knife.
He is but a good version of me:
Admired, as he sits upon the sea.
His scar is just a mere exit,
It is not lasting, it runs on sheath.
He's not alone, he brings lust,
a pet, and lots of life thrust.
The pet likes to chase for youth,
Especially for the one that's in his booth.
The you shudders in a bad morning
He does not want to leave but he may be mourning.
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