A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with like weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain.
It will make you insane and I'm bending the truth you're to blame for all the life that you're losing you watch this space but I'm going all the way and be my slave to the grave I'm a priest god never paid
He that sets traps for another man's feet Is like to fall into them first; And long-winded preludes do harm to us all, But the preluder catches it worst.