Take it outside.

We have but mild differences,
And thus, we ride to war,
For perfect ideologies
Are meant to be no more.
We've just lost touch,
There's too much to apologize,
Simply put, it's modern way,
We can no longer compromise.

Am I a lunatic?
Your Pandora?
I say it's better to die in stride,
Charging at impossible odds,
'Tis better to rule in Hell
Than to serve in Heaven.
The moral man who serves no master,
Or the criminal who lives with faith,
Which do you prefer?

Apparently I've made choices,
Presumably I am no longer of use,
Allegedly I am evil incarnate,
Profess my sin to me.
I dare you.

Vendettas be damned,
The last card is drawn,
Odds show an even match,
Fate shows something more tragic.
Gentlemen, reveal your hands.