Good Friday To Die On
Self seclusion with a need to self doubt.
Suffocated by the hands of shadowed regret.
Knowing that ever mistake made is only a precursor to the next big fuck up.
Wavering need to disembowel, tearing away the skin fragile.
And the pain in your back is just the hook the dug in deep.
Keeping us on the butcher block line.
Cut me, Kill me, Suck me, Eat me, leaving the bones the fat and the gristle for your dogs to chew on.
Chew on this!
My enemies are the ones left standing.
My weapons are the thoughts left brewing.
I can rise up, I can rip your filthy shit down.
Hate!
With all this warped hatred that remains inside me I can feel the light of personal salvation blooming like a mushroom cloud.
Wiping you all off the black and blue face of this world.
Hear me scream from my own shadow, cowling over the factories of flagellation.
Trample the roses of vindication, the graves of the proud and the few.
To many to count already fallen.
Waste of life.
Waste of time ticking along like a bone-saw.
Cockroach holocaust tripping like a headcase.
Sewer effects on the slow-motion capture device.
Lagging behind the technorganic evilution.
A prospect for the cure all solution.
Genocide in a can!
10% with your skin ticket coupon.
While species last.
Read the fine print, more lies then truths.
Everyone is a target.
Keep on moving.
Shake off the little red dot.
Cast off the chains.
Don't let yourself down, when there are better people to disappoint.
And on that fateful day there rises up a skeletal figure shrouded in black...
And its name was Inevitability.
I.R.M. 06/04/07
A Balled Born In The Decline
Penchant for the more Morose of time and faith.
The inevitable feeling of a more expedient decline.
Do all that we can to hasten the process.
In the sweetist slumber we countinue our demise.
Unknowingly, unenthused.
And now as the conclusion hurtles up toward us I ask a question.
Do we not submit to this?
If this is fate do we not bow to its unwavering stature?
Are we not but cogs and wheels in a devise most foul?
Come not as you were but as you are molded into.
A quick break of the neck and the rope snaps tight.
Listen to the sound of the blood gushing in your ears.
Most numbing the feeling.
Most dark the sensation.
Exicution but the means of embilical castration.
Swinging in the wind, pungint in death.
There is but one thing which keeps my heart beating.
There is but one person that keeps my couse steady and true.
And for this I speak out and sing aloud, if only it be a mere whisper in her ear.
Truth, emotion, the value of my soul and theres.
And as god stares down upone me with disgust and anathema.
He knows that soon his talon like grip on the weak and misguided shall waver and break away.
Letting the children of the free and clear, wash over this ruined world like anti-bodys in the wind of disease.
But we shall stand above the rubel that he as left.
Smiling in the light soon to come.
I.R.M. 04/09/06
