I want to hold him close to my breast
I want to knight him my personal cupchest
When I was ill and very weak
He took me in. So cold. So meek

I was but the staples holding your papers
Bent old metal biting hard your labors
You hammered me into place, built me anew
The trash I was. Hit hard. Askew

If I could see his old pale hands
Today I want just one last wish—
From evilest God, from most bless'd Devil—
I wish he rots in Hell, that Super High School Level.