Off the stove

I got my eyes on devils

that don't make me a saint

blood is no longer red paint

make believe is the truth deceived

like a good hair weave

bald women are rare

blood is in bought hair

who dies for what we wear

some Body

some where

we don't tend to care

we buy a pair just to fit in

a circle in a square

confined going nowhere

to and fro, here and there

eaten by beast

blood on its fleece

invited to the feast

fat meat no grease

Royal crown

Dixie Peach

how damn deep can you reach