Man, Tis Time To Break It All Down
No one need tell this child a gentle slight breeze
Could wisp his tiny little life, away; fleshly speaking
Ten million others could crush an old man's body such
As mine there are no illusions to this truth along with regrets
Fact that we have slept amid the bed of sin; shameful I have lived
Known, all too well another's pain these chains their scars...
Still there is no claim nor desire, to sift through this maze if and or why
Philastotel speaks in lines of crumbling crackers; black masque skeletal bones
White robes his missile toes; ironic, it's poisonous renditions apocalyptic hypocrisy ?
Antiquity's amnesia hith'erto her mercenary monstrous nymph metamorphosis your, baby boo.
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