End of Days

Caressing ideals with swift, broken wings But no one can know them or freedom they’ll take Insurgents unseen inciting all things For demonic harmony won’t dissipate All things will void and lives wasted in vain And where then shall we turn our futile spite? We’ll paint our own portrait of hateful disdain Decrepit, neurotic and judgmental sight Returning to the ground with tremulous force Our mask is the earth - a tasteless disguise As paranoid heathens, we’ll show no remorse Our maniacal nature will be our demise From that, life renews - so again we will try But there’s no point debating, the end is nigh Jun-2003