For I bleed words and cry lines of poetry,
Cut with sharpness of a tongue's melancholy,
Wounding with daggers of thought,
You, with my speech, will rot

Careful, now, deary,
You're dealing with a word weaponry,
Embedded with love and comfort and even affection,
But best beware, for I also bring treason

Choose which side you'd like to have,
And stay away from the other half