Devoid of malicious intent Just a mindless wanderer Pushed and pulled by criminal impulses Pulsating Compulsive An endless cycle of peaks and troughs A perpetual rise and fall of weakness and will Is this an illness, or nothing more than a product of the human condition? A chasing of the wind Just pissing in the wind Bathed in the stench of repeated offences Enrobed with the reek of decay A convict digging up corpses of past victims to k** again Is this an illness, or nothing more than a product of the human condition? A chasing of the wind Just pissing in the wind From blood to dust and back again Stabbing, strangling putrefying flesh The recidivist retracing steps erring both left and right Yet there's no end in sight Deeper Further To the very heart of darkness Deeper Further And further still