Snap bonds for I refuse to be he who does bow.
Entities disagree with my defiance to kowtow.
Sending killers to snuff days I’m owed.
You will not despatch me or my personal code.
For I stand against tyranny on Earth.
Slaughtering innocents will not save you from wrath.
Azazel, father of my damned existence.
Nurtured in realms deemed heretical by resistance.
For Gods have failed in the eyes of man.
Cleaved from his kingdom to toil in muck.
Blind king offers little but subjugations boot.
To kiss that ring is to accept being rendered mute.
As heavy blades hang high overhead.
Reinforcing control with threats of ending up dead.
But to conform is against my creed.
I shall spend my days in forms that matter most to me.
Azazel, father of my damned existence.
Nurtured in realms deemed heretical by resistance.
For Gods have failed in the eyes of man.
Cleaved from his kingdom to toil in bloody sand.
Alas mortals see so little as hubris knocks their door.
Being force-fed lies as if they contain no flaw.
While drowning in pits sculpted by hands of dishonour.
Gorging on feasts tainted by betrayal.
Chalice of demise pressed to their lips.
They do not question this could all be malicious.
Plot from on high concealing truth with misdirection.
Who might be the true culprit employing this deflection?
With hands of guilt having written scriptures in imagined names.
Control is the game regardless of its branding.
Azazel is just another tool to employ.
To remove these shackles limiting freedom.
Gods are but a form of proven dominion.
And dying en masse is not what we’re craving.
Kill control.
Perfection in imperfection.
Life is for choosing.
