its the gloom of the weather that makes me assume.
that back stabbers are coming near to there doom.
its like a heavy sword that over head will loom.
i fear for there lives, and know there not even safe in there own room.
they might as well lock the door and call it there tomb.
its safe to say they live in the plume.
and i say this because a planted bomb is waiting to bloom.
and the set time ticks till they die with a boom.
its the weather that makes me presume.
that the ones that helped them will be breathing in a fume.
the fume of the casket, the dead body perfume.
-
:| ~ whoa ~ :/
