---

And though the fear has passed
I know
that this hollow sophistry
is just residual entropy.

An asinine confluence
of dull minds and
embittered revelry;
your embarrassing sciamachy.

Wretched, unhinged, unholy,
besotted with silk and folly.

And yet their faces, familiar,
the contours
a picture
of grace once withheld
now left in squalor to melt.

Before our world could start
we tore ourselves apart.
I exist as
nothing but stress and colours.

Burn with the love, unsold,
the lies that you were told.
I exist as
nothing but stress and colours.

Poison (purpose),
melt your resolve.
Happily graft to the truncheon
made of your bones,
wielded by saviours,
reticent to leave good deeds unseen.

And whether you're a product of the meek or the wild
- inherited genetics from a womb crystallized -
you'll never be wrong, never need to bend,
be the last defence against the unwashed throng
(this can't be the end).

Before our world could start
we tore ourselves apart.
I exist as
nothing but stress and colours.

Burn with the love, unsold,
the lies that you were told.
I exist as
nothing but stress and colours.

Before our world could start
we tore ourselves apart.
I exist as
nothing but stress and colours.

Burn with the love, unsold,
the lies that you were told.
I exist as
nothing but stress and colours.

Before our world could start;
I exist as
nothing but stress and colours.

Burn with the love, unsold;
I exist as
nothing but stress and colours.

---

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