Practice what you preach until you make them all obey.
One by one they will beg for…
A return to decay.
No more immortality.
Abused, no subjectivity.
What created is not as it should be.
Weave at the altars with a murmur of cursed crows.
Innocence can’t prevail against…
A return to decay.
No more immortality.
Abused, no subjectivity.
What created is not as it should be.
Think of the crown, the seat of the lands.
Hypnotise those who have forgotten the brand.
Marked skin against the courts.
A place filled with nothing but frauds.
For festering fruits are born in their loins.
Yet everything here has been purchased with coins.
Not a single soul has worked for what they have.
Its all been inherited from generations long past.
A return to decay.
No more immortality.
Abused, no subjectivity.
What created is not as it should be.
But who here will say that loudly?
I thought not, you sheep in the fray.
Disgusting, how you live by the play.
Wittering and chittering but never willing to say.
Declarations, proof of your heresy.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 