Your constant complaining is a poison that vexes my soul
It’s a bad omen—a bad spirit that comes to expel doom to all its hearers
You spread your poisonous complaints around like a pre-meditated mixed potion, meant to bring your hearers down
Your desire is for all your hearers to join in your misery
Because you’re in a fallen state—you want no one to be at heaven’s gate
You choose your victims carefully—your preference are those that are high and lifted up
You wallow in constant misery—you desire for your hearers to join your cavalry
Other peoples’ freedom is like a bitter taste in your mouth, that disgust you—for freedom is where you long to reside
Beating down your hearers with your complaints provides you with a means of escape
You use your hearers as your scapegoat—as a refuge for your misery
Like a dog disposing of its dung, you heap your misery upon them, then go about your day; never caring for one moment about the residue you leave behind/the constant complaint’s that vexes their soul
I recognize your spirit—that’s in a fallen state
Misery loves company—but I’m not of that fate
I recognize that spirit within you—I must tell it to flee; for I won’t allow its doom to cover me
I refuse to be one of your hearers of your constant complaints
I don’t care to join you in your fallen state
Your under the influence of the enemy—you’ve joined him and his cavalry
You come to your hearers to have your soul set free—not caring about the onslaught of misery
All you care about is freedom to fly
