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fresh fruit from rotting succubi
weathered tomes and unearthed graves
this day and our daily bread
are focal points for our nations god
the figment so seperated from state
that our trespasses have been forgiven
but the equality I stomach deep in these covers
has enveloped my self loathing
and brought me to my knee's to worship in jest

frail minds brood false ideals

but wagging war along picket lines
with pistols and hand grenades
leaves the praise for those to scared to speak their minds
BE STILL, BE SILENT, REFORM
my peers ability to form singular opinions
from the depths of their make up
is deader than the horse our god rode in on
those that treat the goblet with fear
follow the whims of those who hold the blood