Masked by mildness, sheathing only halves.
Blunted for bowing heads yet quickened, for you'll never see it coming.
Make no mistake, my blows would rip a thousand hands off sockets.
Stir my pool, an elixir of damnation.
These, laid I for greys, laid I for blacks.

Prowling terrains without directions,
Because wisdom is profitable to direct.
Knowledge defiant, headstrong, a bull's eye and a needle.
My doom is yours a meaning, a total diversion.
For my troubles, you shall pay double.

So I cursed my rage,
Conjured flames from my whispers.
Hushed to settle scores.
Death certificates self-signed,
Waiting for date of deed.

And today,
I return that curse,
Sending it right straight to you.
"Whatever you lay your hands on
Shall be as..."
Good As You!

© Xavier Clann