We kill for those that we do love,
Igniting pain in unbred fears,
Complete with hate-filled liars’ tears,
We fight in spite for Death above.
We love and hurt for we do scare,
Far too often and far too much,
And when we feel the hangman’s touch,
We crawl and bow before His stare.
There is no Truth worth being told,
All books are written by liars,
Swines pretending to be friars,
Freedom never is far too bold.
There is no hope, except in Death,
For in the void, nothing is real,
Forward the past, rewind the reel,
And welcome Life, in your last breath.