Slice The Cake Race Of Roses
If this is all there is; and compassion's but fleeting in a sea of mediocrity,
We'll tread water in futility. We're all nought but f..cking ragdolls to gaia.
Why has it become so acceptable to display a consummate aggression
Spat in the eye of progress; all in the aid of an existence as leeches?
They become more anesthetized by the hour, succumbing to a spiritual sterility.
Compelling those with beating hearts to sew their eyes shut with but a second thought.
More concerned with petty insights of extravagant intoxication,
Intravenous injections of venom to poison every man, woman, thinker or feeler.
Blind, Idiot Gods of their own creation, survival as parasites.
Consuming the roots of the pure and draining the life of the few;
Nothing more than weeds in the garden of Eden, tainting the apple of knowledge.
Pure insipid spite in all its twisted glory;
We are a race of roses, natural beauty encased in a crown of thorns.
But, this was not to be.
Gaia be damned, Gaia be cursed.
Gaia be damned, Gaia be cursed.
