Glass House

What's it going to take?

What pound of flesh?

It's not really what I did...

it's what was done before, that caused the bedrock

of your unforgiveness.

You want me over a barrel

digging out from a deficit

day by day by day,

and you thinking you're faultless.

In the end

you gutted me,

barrel be damned.

I was drawn and quartered

by your need to play God

to make me confess,

to make me pay

for your paranoia.

Your house is glass also.

How will you fare

with all those stones?