Paper Sabbath
Written By,Nyce.
A tired device set in place upon a crystal banner,
A ghostly hand that reaches to the stars.
A ghostly voice that screams to eternity
That we no longer have a reason to survive.
Everything has been said,
Yet we are not goaded to action.
Beauty queens leer at us through clenched teeth
While the rabble sleep in peculiar lucidity.
"Fuck the majority", they cry while biting their lips
Till they bleed.
"We are no longer yours to command!"
They cut themselves on shards of patience.
Gaps appear in the lines of the unwashed as
Lucifer himself is crowned king of "Everything He Can See",
As the grinning skeletons that have become the new "ourselves" are
Revered for their peculiar talent.
A day for peace, a moment, no less,
But the new order comes with less than 21 guns,
A mere whisper in the ear of reason,
A mere shadow flitting across a forgotten path:
First comes midnight in the garden,
Then Eden crumbles beneath our feet
As we see in each other's eyes
The brightly shining fires of Denial.
We celebrate with hopeful hearts
A history of blood and death,
Of beating our foes into the ground
And reveling in their death-masks.
What have we become that we must ask ourselves
What is right?
Who cares about the past if all that is before us
Is an endless, purposeless future?
The Master of the World is an evanescent dream.
http://www.enduranceandlove.org/images/mdf57295.jpg
Quote:
Who cares about the past if all that is before us
Is an endless, purposeless future?
