Eight hours of work, and then eight consecutive hours of beatings, cutting, and sex. Sleep.  Repeat.

My life = Fucking awesome.

New motorcycle, new place.  Things are finally staying where I put them.  I'm sure it will all fall apart, but it's inevitable, and I'd prefer to enjoy it rather than dwell on my potentially shitty future.

Now, next goal.  To win the lottery and pay people to do menial tasks like turn lights off and on when I enter rooms.  Perhaps an orchestra to follow me around and play theme music.  Also a house with an intricate network of underground tunnels, with secret bookcase passageways and a gymnasium.

"Why can't the see what I see, why can't they hear the lies?

Maybe the fee is too pricey for them to realize

Your disguise is slipping, I think you're slipping.

Now that your savior is still as the grave you're beginning to fear me,

Like cavemen fear thunder I still have to wonder can you really hear me?

I bring you pain, the kind you can't suffer quietly.

Fire up your brain, remind you inside your rioting society is slipping.

Everything's slipping, away."