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Black Book
The recluse of religion
Time has proven its best to be friends with the worse,
Pounding of chests that decide the men of the works.
Privilege heathens that accomplish nothing but dirt,
The conquering season of clouds that slowly emerge.
Promise of the wasteland, given no reason to soil,
So planting their feet isn't something they recoil.
Distress between clear pipes and even in foil,
The truth of it all is a gimmick cus addicts have always proven to be loyal.
Never to themselves tho- just to the mix or batch,
It's like the last school day of the week where they mix and match.
Twisted caps where pants use to sag as an act,
Rebellion; seizing opportunity to divide is lacked.
Seizing the grains, latched behind the door to the future,
With Middletown maneuvers axes swung to pursue ya.
Crushing platunias, abnormality is disguised as lucifer,
Not the devil who wears Prada; the enlightenment of medusa.
Arrows shred the sky rumor with whistles of that aim,
To damage all in range and to bargain with pain.
Enchanted remains; laid to waste all who refrained...
To accept in vein the world order that flamed to change.
Ground zero, the fee that we toll to cross the sea,
Land of the free yet dividends mask all who preach,
Classical reach as we all tend to now in the land of the sheep.
No following the leader we just blend with what's ordered,
But time is a hoarder that tends to stay within its borders!