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Staring through an endless sea of weathered souls |
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roaming alone through the great unknown. |
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Baring jagged teeth at me, |
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they seem to be reaching out to tell me |
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something I need to know. |
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It's useless, though. |
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They're free of tongues and, |
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with rotted gums, I hear only screams |
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twixt the blood and nonsense |
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rupturing the air with a chord of despair |
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much akin to another I've heard... |
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Escaping from sleep and the haunt of these wretched dreams, |
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I must ease my mind to find |
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a piece of quiet that I can rest upon |
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and speak freely on God and politics |
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and all the other horrors of the world. |
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Meaning seems lost in this modern conquest. |
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As Rome expands I can hear her groaning |
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under the weight of the question of whether |
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to serve for this country is to serve for |
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actual societal progress |
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or if it's gradual battle |
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for global rule over men and religion, |
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effectively crushing the ideals of the two. |
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All of them will fall before us. |
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What have we become? |
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"The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts." |
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God damn us all. |
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What have we become? |
