If I broke bad, you wouldn't have a clue.
I'd keep my job, trudge off to work each day,
then slouch back home again when I was due.
I'd say the same dull things I always say.
No matter what the count of lives destroyed
or evil plans I'd culminated was,
I'd mow the yard, pretend to get annoyed
at all those little things our neighbor does;
I'd play upon your lack of interest in
my work, my hobbies, all my boring dreams,
to cover up my life of crime and sin,
for none of us, my dear, is what he seems.
You'd never guess, and I'd never be caught,
if I broke bad...but who's to say I've not?
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