by Nick Gisburne
If I am so abnormal, what are you?
Your words were born behind a crooked lip
And every time your tongue-tip flickers through
The venom is too syrupy to drip
The friends who follow, shackled to your side
Are captives of the hatred you repeat
It paints a sick persona, cracked and dried
A devil’s portrait, varnished with deceit
The steam of boiling bigotry within
Is belching from a grave of twisted teeth
Erupting from the leather of your skin
Are poisons from the strangled heart beneath
‘Abnormal’ is your vitriol, your spite
And ignorance will never make you right
