The last thing I thought of today was,
How I hate my dad and I could kill him.
But I wouldn't give him the honor or the privilege,
Of ever seeing my forgotten face again.
Did you ever think you could get away with it?
Murder I mean, without making a run?
My run starts today, feelings thrown away,
To go off and make my run proud.
The sound barrier has nothing on me,
Traveling faster than eyes can see.
Stupid lines in a poem I once wrote,
When I had a dream about slitting my dad's throat.
I'm not usually morbid like this,
Murder I mean, without making fun.
My fun starts today, hatred thrown away,
To go off and make Elizabeth proud.
Money goes down on the table for this rage,
Can you find in here a subliminal message?
Incredible outpourings of mutual hatred?
Have you seen your dad today?