II-XIV In a Basement With Bertha Mason

I am a madman,

who came to earth for the pleasure of your voice,

to stand at your futile ceremony by choice.

I gaze at you and wonder:

how long till you succumb to me?

You’ll love me for my difference,

while I adore humanity’s constance.

Ponder why some things sound strange,

take a guess, make a claim:

Where lies the result of all this bought insanity?

Nothing reaches you if it’s not wealth that brings your glee.

Your delusion is praying for what already lies before you, plain to see.