I've a simple plan,

A plan to succeed,

I've ran,

Over the Morphosis Prophecy

I have a life to end,

a poor desolate soul,

I have strife to begin,

That which is whole,

That which feeds us,

And tears us apart,

That which causes our fuss,

And breaks our heart,

I have a gun,

Loaded, pointed at you,

Time for me to have fun,

It's over, oh, so true,

And, as i pull the trigger,

I think, and laugh, insanely,

And i say to myself, "Go figure,"

And i think, moreso, refrainingly

My plan hath succeeded,

As you may see,

I really think it was needed,

For the Morphosis Prophecy

And thus, i leave your body,

Cold, dead on the ground,

And i walk away, rather Haughty,

Happy that you are on the ground.

I laugh at you,

Bring misfortune upon your grave,

I have made your death anew,

You are my ethereal slave,

I command you, night and day,

And yet, i grow tired,

And, to my dismay,

You are in the equivalent of being fired…

My plan, it succeeded,

As we could all see,

But it was not really needed…

It was the Morphosis Prophecy.