Omnicide Something Wicked
If you prick us do we not bleed?
If you tickle us do we not laugh?
If you poison us do we not die?
(And) If you wrong us shall we not revenge?
Foul is fair - fair is foul,
hovering through fog and filthy air
are thoughts of blood red anger
born of this obscene epiphanic scene
Society (must) have eaten from the insane root, that
takes the reason prisoner
to riddle all the wrong answers of what has to be and
no to be
We didn’t stop to fear our neighbors
The border stone has never been removed
War all along was what we sought
henceforth An ethic cleansing, at one fell swoop
There are daggers in my words.
The sharper phrased
the nearer bloody
So Come dagger, let me clutch thee,
to venesect the limb of this sick society
By the pricking in my thumbs, something wicked this
way...comes
Hell hath no furry than the human condition methinks
Never delivered from evil, mere dagger spells
redemption
even though the redeemed doth protest to much
If you prick me I will/do not bleed!
If you tickle me I will/do not laugh!
If you poison me I will/do not die!
As you’ve wronged I shall seek revenge!
Foul is fair - fair is foul,
hovering through fog and filthy air
are thoughts of blood red anger
born of this obscene epiphanic scene
