He's no good at comfort and he has no skill at calm
He cannot understand the use of a hand
Unless breaking a face with a well-placed palm
Befriend who you can't kill and kill who you can
Always kill enemies when revenge is at hand
If you can't batter, you don't deserve to stand

Morals are a foreign thing to his broken mind
It's his luck as a loser just being alive
But thanks aren't extended, he just doesn't care
He can't offer kindness, no warmth can he share
It's simply his way as the best way he's surmised
And each day that's the way that he's best survived

He hates the rules that a good god creates
He hates too the authority that it tends to stake
He just sits and accepts the bad fortune he has
He can't make exceptions for grudges that last
But he wouldn't revolt because he also hates change
A change of environs means changing his plans

There's too many things to list that he loathes
Too many games where he refuses to fold
A life to him is a chip to be gambled
This always makes him a little too bold
Especially in cases where life is mishandled
But those are the rules and he can't break the mold