Massagenistic Swine

The man, he gets drunk off wine
To this girl, his medals shine.
With privilege and honor
He comes down upon her.
As if with each beat of the chest
He shows he is the best.
Behind the mask, is his true grime
Each day, living a crime.
The man, he goes to smother
In his eyes he must have her.
In search of his crest
He holds tight to her breast.
He now, hard as pine
Exposes he really is swine.
To him, she is a goner
He did his best to con her.
In contentment, the man rolls over to rest
The blade, she drives it through his chest.