Pipe running, ends in cone
filled with poison, no need for stone.
Casts them lines in lead
fires bullets and paints heart red.
Weapon to the mind, still
some hearts can be kind.
Build the world, no one’s ever heard
“Here! use a rubber, pick a scale
enough of the free hand”- the world may say.
The traces of vigour, alas! still linger
Power to the fingers,
it is reborn each circle
as blades shave and expose
the incoming big close.
steal those hearts, make’em cry
great tragedies, give it a try.