"The world's not fair, you know"
(gloat those who've found it fairer than most)
Oh, but we saw how it was,
you think we need you to tell us this?
we who learned so young how it was going to be.
Some of us seemed born to be blamed
For the crimes that were never ours.
But resentment in its raw form is so base and ugly, you know.
So we fashioned it to knives of glass.
Pure and clear and colourless
Though sharp enough to wound.
We understand how these things are; we have no expectations.
Sin eaters and whipping boys who do not seek revenge.
Our desire for this, refined, is used in other ways.
Sublimation. Sublime.