The Lord of the Flies

A gaping mouth, desperate to, in the end, consume all else The Beelzebub that knows its place and, once denied, is felt Lays open all the questions that can lead to what we knew And answers what could never, though empiric, be untrue This blood of apathy Drains to a depthless sea The voices deep inside Embedded, cannot lie The other soul knows of itself More than the mind can comprehend The other soul cannot be felt But neither soul can still transcend So fanciful, desires to create, to but control To overlord, to master what we think we cannot know "Play God, Play God" the demons cry "Enough, enough", we can't deny "Sublime, sublime, extrapolate Transcend, transcend, corrupt and sate" The horror, horror, demons' cry Beneath the fathoms of the mind The real demon, that am I My devil is my heart The lightly torn apart The darkness The darkness The horror The horror The end To end All