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
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