It sits coldly, silently in the corner,
the master of deception, a tool of hate.
It shines, glows, and controls.
It’s black beauty masters the soul.
One touch is death.
It’s purpose is to kill.
Living only with a touch of life.
Owning many a heart.
Breathing fire soon becomes an art.
I see it in the corner tempting loyalty.
I tear away never to touch.
Once breathing fire never is one the same.
Put them all in the corner,
and you will show a loyalty to society.
Bury it, Burt it quick, or “BANG”
the fight begins.