Force of Habit

Can't overcome it, it's what I do best I'll pick your pocket for your last red cent It's a disease, I'm stricken like the rest Never return anything I'm lent It wasn't me, yeah you know it wasn't me It must've been someone who looked like me Innocent

Let me paint you a portrait of a man Born unto privilege child of aristocracy, so tender the young mind, yet so unclean His was a heart of darkness that beat within his chest Breasting life into the crimes he'd manifest Imp of the perverse on a blood