Running

It's True That I'm A Beast
Of Pure Breeding, At Least
Born From Lines Of Torment
Where Evil Thoughts Ferment
And Surface In My Eyes
As The Rank Scent Of Lies
Clings To My Panting Breath
As My Chest Swells In Breadth
With My Miserable Cry
Given Way To A Sigh
With A Bow Of My Head
Where You'll Find All That's Dead
Gored Upon My High Horns
Like A Garland Of Thorns
And, Yes, It's True. I Fell
But, I Was Born In Hell
And I'm Held To Standards.