Cockroach

Perverted,

Your soul is filthy,

Lust shackling your heart,

Your morale lose like dirt.

Dried worm,

Still not getting enough to you,

All glamours,

Even from the crawling people,

Confiscating all their rights,

With cold staring as cold as snow,

Also the gluttony of poor pig.

Thinking everything will be alright,

All stain you carving in,

Being vague on wavering stake,

Unmoved by heart of hearts,

Damped by the cunning jewel rain.

When will time open the eye,

Of that closed by blinding dark?

The crumbling world you feel not,

Everything covered by worldliness mist.