Good evening, Mr. Mattel We’ve found this tripe in your house Where’s that place you? What’s that make you? If you’ve got â€œnothing to hideâ€ We’ve still got something to find You can change your mind But you’re on borrowed time Lives are on the line The blood’s on you and me Lives are on the line So I need you to speak up This is an offer and not an option Count backward from ten I might as well O.D. Akin to a friend. A name I’d confess that would make me a mess: Persephone. Queen of my fire, the underworld’s eye & apple of mine. Oh, you thought you saw my soul. Paid for, traded, and sold. I may not be so bold after all. Hang my head above my bedroom window Lights from the street beckon Me to love all I despise, why? My mistress, my heart beats for you. I’m distressed, all I need was you. Give it up So what does that make me? A rat? A fiend? A â€œYou-never-knew-the-regret-I-would-be?â€ A 1-2-3, switched up loyalty But in a sea of bleeding, I’ve got buoyancy Time’s up: You’ve wasted enough of mine. Now, I’ll go back over this: One last time. Martyrs won’t keep them alive We don’t take kindly to espionage or treason. Give it up boy. Save yourself from the: Retribution that descends on the fallen. There’s no sense in finding out What you can do nothing about. Heresy and infestation of these thoughts can break the chains of Status quo that maintains curtains; wool over the eyes of burdened, Broken people with no future short of cremation and sutures, Cold steel tables ending fables, lies that keep the hope alive.