Scoundrels cannot sleep till they ensnare,
they’re robbed of rest lest they trap air.
Snakes wait for the upright to stumble,
then squeeze tightly once they tumble.
They binge on bread of knavery,
burned in their dreaded bakery,
yet every gnaw unsavory,
seems sapid when in slavery.
They slug the wine of ferity,
chug violence and vulgarity,
evade the taste of verity,
preferring their asperity.
But the path of the righteous
is like the light of dawn;
it shines with greater brightness
till the full day is drawn!
