Ah it sits there, bold as brass. br The rat in its element, br picking at the flesh that br sustains him. Oh scavenger! br Do you take pleasure in the br shackles placed on his hands? br Is the prospect of easy prey br appealing to you? br Your shrill screams of insults br are only to be echoed. br The fault is not his own. br You scream silence at him, br your foul reddened nose br twitching and your absurd br grey tartean fur br bristling as you rile yourself up. br As with clothes, you shed br your feelings, almost snakelike. br But you are not majestic, your br blood, when shed, runs deep, deep red. br his is why you're an outcast, no friends br apart from those who will sip br from the same vein.