If a wild hound ripped you to shreds, Teared your soft skin, Thick crimson dripping off your body. Tap, tap as it hits the ground, The hound is vicious and merciless. Canines mauling your being, Bringing you to your knees, Consumed by agony, fear, betrayal. You scream, cry, writhe to escape its strong hold on you. Suddenly, the hound looks into your teary eyes and weeps in remorse. Tell me, Is this vicious hound redemed anymore that a hound that didn't weep? No. Guilt does not purify you, You are still nothing more than a cruel, merciless hound, With or without your pathetic remorse.