A fever, fever so cold
It eats away at my skin
It turns my might to fear
Doesn't anybody know?
Can't they tell?
I'm dying in my mind
My white skin, flushed with self-indulgent hate
I'm like a whore, selling that which can't be bought
Doesn't anybody know?
Can't they tell?
I've been the murderee* all along
I'm running from my own vengeance
I'm running into the arms of death

-Sate Redd

*One who has been or is likely to be a likely victim of murder