Pluto debate, the line that stays straight.

To create, inflate, sols that are stuck on a stake.

To kneel, is your fate, boxed in like a crate.

And you wonder why I don't fuck with you, you're fake.

Eating you like wine, a nice medium-rare steak.

At the bottom of a fake like lake.

To sin, is to die, your sol belongs to Him.

And you wonder why Truth is the opposite of sin.

The "Destroyer", you got caught, your sol you cannot buy.

Sitting in your house and crying to a guy.

Boys II Men, you do whatever for love.

And you die like Hiroshima, like a cockroach, a bug.