Illness

Fingers clickin twistingly,
Shiftin nervously,
Twitching from nearly,
Epilepticly fittin,
Appocalypticaly thinkin,
Nearly droppin my drink,
Heart almost stoppin to think,
How awful it is,
The slaughter of kids,
In far off lands for business,
Sheriffs,
Or tyrants and sickness,
To provide rich pickins,
To royal divisions,
Of societies,
Lizards highly invisioned,
By blind bitches,
Who've been lied to,
Since children tried in courtrooms,
And buildins,
Cos they can't sort out thier illness,
Swallowin pills in the millions.