A Ruse -
A runner-up for
The greatest story ever told;
wolves sleeping amongst the fold.
Amused
By the sight of flung feces
We’re all down here on our knees
Swearing we love the king’s new clothes
A sketch you can’t erase
A dream you can’t wake up from
A vile inheritance
And I don’t want this – I don’t want these chains.
These putrefied remains.
And every song’s the same
As we willingly march rank and file to our own demise.
Just kids
When we believed the lies
When we pledged our hearts and minds
The wolves biding their time.
Consumed
Our little lives away
Us voluntary slaves
Committed ever to the farce that occupies our lives
Perceived dichotomies
Between safety and freedom
False flag realities
And I don’t want this – I don’t want these blood stains.
So twisted, so inhumane
So futile and so insane
As we willingly march rank and file to our own demise.
A Harlow-esque fantasy
A self-inflicted disease
Clinging tightly to the terry-cloth machine
A sanguine depravity
Caught: hook, line and sinker
No desire to think.
Too afraid to not believe.
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