Preaching to the wicked, on the tenets of ire A sermon of malevolence for the unwise I feel a change swelling inside A terror manifesting itself to
I lived in shame eighty-seven days I wore the scars of failure Forsaken but this is my crusade Is this the undertow of tragedy? The question? begs an
What an anemic charade, a soulless display We force upon ourselves and all of the world Needless to say, this sterile cliche Has left me with another
I don't need a reason I don't need to explain I'm told that death's in season I don't need to be saved But you... you tried so fucking hard Can't seem
You know me You know the truth You're tying slowly Your serpent noose I feel the pangs on a bitter nerve surfacing I can't deny that I'm stifling what
Was it something I said That bruised or broke your fragile skin, my friend? But how could I Have known the dead would be so sensitive? The cretin king
I am a son of hate, of pure hostility No one is safe, no one is taking me alive I was born in flames, in scathing disarray And every path I take leads
In my youth the ghost stepped through me, and life was never quite the same A new dark truth, a cursed recluse, left choking on the bitter shame I force
Pray for rain To wash over the fires you made Our mistake Of the subsentence coursing my veins New American Christ for the weak Selling utopia Doom is
GO! Caught between this great hole of divide Not quite dead but still not quite alive Quite alive Now go Into the light But I can't tell you The reasons
You look at me, you see depraved execration You stare a while then look away I look at you, I see a slave to convention Grieving for another day My wars
Hold on through the wake, dear For the severing I'll be here in the ether Weathering, weathering the storm Sing softly the eulogy This requiem of mine
