Hit me

In your crawling torment I am unbright,
Good for nothing victim,
Yeah, good for nothing - but to be a small screw in your system.
Oh, did I disappoint you?
My burning inside wrath is to provoke,
Complaints I'm gonna eat, my insights' words on which I'll choke.
Over and over - for keep my mouth sewn's all what I can do.
Dead out neighborhood's gossip whisper me to go on through.
You can log in with dumb numb log,
Unless it's clingy to log out.
Talk to my scratched hand in the case of trouble -
You'll see, what I'm about.

Fools, that's who they feed on -
To get sober there's a bitter drink,
To take away my head from clouds where I merrily sink.
Did I deserve a statement?
Well then, I've a stammering one:
Sorry to stop you, but I see -
My useless mission here is done.

Hit me in front of the thousands eyes -
The only way to cover up our livelong lies,
Hit me harder -
Alabaster masque gets too tight for a disguise.
Hit me again -
Then sing me a song about a perfect crime.
Just hit me,
Today's four letter scars will surely heal with time.

* - написано под впечатлением от поступка Сатьи, когда тот прилюдно поднял руку на одну из своих слушательниц в присутствии ее мужа(автор не считает для себя возможным называть по имени отчеству его, поскольку не испытывает после такого поступка уважения) как абстракция непринятия менталитета жертвы и в принципе такого поведения.