Peas in a Pod - 2013/03/26

We converse even though he is not
A porter of a disinterested world
Buckling under the pressure of rot

His voice complements your thoughts
Honing you into the blade he wields
Proud to bear all his good tidings
While shedding blood in dying fields

Can you hear whispers of black deeds
Echoing from within your secret soul
Sowing and birthing countless seeds

Whoever will accept responsibility now
Hands of the era all cleansed of guilt
A pittance palmed as though by pauper
Behold and marvel at our rancid quilt

Do you smell rotting flesh at your feet
Its stench opposing all of civilization
Your new throne beckons now take a seat

Wails of the tortured and oppressed rise
Forming the modern crescendo of insanity
In private cloisters you sit by his will
Consumed by archaic laws and petty vanity

Will you remember the finale of our show
Or have my friends been utterly consumed
For am I one of the lost who cannot know

In the end I know eternal darkness falls
Not even the universe itself will outlast
Though I cannot help but to be concerned
As you fight to get us there so very fast