I bought a tank at a war surplus store.
It's not something people are thankful for.
Just because I blow up their homes with the cannon and flatten their cars,
the jerks all think that I've gone too far.
I love this destruction, I didn't know I had it in me.
People want to drag me out of this tank and skin me.
The cops think they can stop me by firing bullets and yelling freeze.
Bullets can't damage this armored tank, they might as well use BBs.
The Police just captured me because I'm a dumbass.
When I bought this tank, I forgot to fill it up with gas.
(This is a fictional poem)