
The pain of reality seethes from our life and taints our minds. Here is to our gods, and what we make of them.
Rated: Fiction T - English - Words: 172 - Reviews: 4 - Published: 12-20-05 - id: 2073270
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I walk down these halls
Faces jaded angry and mean
A blistering cancer of neo-nazis
The neophytes of reality
Bastardized by a machine we call society
Persecuted by the faceless idols we cling to so dearly
By the flailing monster of a hundred barbed chains
So we are ground down
In the gears of this infernal machine
That we call morality
And of the hundred mouths that speak of everything
And nothing at all
Their voices rape the air
Tainting it with obscenities
So with our glasses high
We raise a toast
To the profits of human suffering
We are sick warmongers and gore crows
The news of hundreds of perversities
That quiver through
This insane network of memories
So we worship these fantasies
Claiming to love our god's humanity
Claiming that these gods are the truth
But truth depends on how much you surrender
To delusion
So let's keep our glasses raised
So never to forget out gods
And what we make of them
Forever and ever-Amen
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