incubus

lotism
2003-05-05 07:18:41 (UTC)

against the wind

everything so perfect, an ideal little world
no more feelings of anger, spun and hurled
no more people filled with hate
no more lines of judgment to wait
the earth fed from the sun and the moon
waiting for our demise at the strike of noon
giving birth to all of gods little children
giving a sip of life before he kills them
Heavens clone army
prepared and trained to harm me
its all for fun n game
but not so fun when gods to blame
holding the weapon of devotion
ready to kill off the earth should she motion
words muttered to myself
waiting for my part in life on this shelf
worth as every bit of this dust that I collect
who are we to elect
to tell mother earth shes lost respect
haunted by the fact that we taunted
tell her that shes no longer wanted
at the fact that she tried
all earths creation burned and died
how can you go on knowing you stabbed the earth
deprived from everything its worth
sat her down
held her head to the ground
told her it was about to end
wishing their was a hand to lend
with this pistol to her head
words of comfort are fed
shes down on her knees praying for ease
her hands covered in blood
darker then a dead roses bud
oceans and trees painted red
her hands worked till they bled
she built a scene for this murder
heavens kin are out to hurt her
all for evolution
murder being our only solution
dispose of the evidence
hide the body under the fence
play cops n robbers with the skies
watching mother earth as it dies
there's no such thing as sympathy
in this game between him and me
wait till the sun sleeps and make our flee
have a seat, just to watch and see
of all the trouble made by god and me…




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