The water is racing towards the drain
like a horse chasing the path to victory
as the foam is getting shoved off my face.

The razor, a warrior, sets up his shield
as he prepares for war, a begins to yield.

The cities on my face stay at ease
Why the calmness in fear's place?
It must be satisfying, knowing you'll be replaced.

So the blade kissed the side of my head
ruins and rubble, ever so smooth.
As if Caesar returned to avenge himself
from a dastardly betrayal, many hairs remain
for I am feeling generous, as I stroke my mane.