Behind the stories of old bad luck,
lay Lucifer and his surrogate beginning to ****.
Draining every swamp of muck,
releasing the morbidly hunted buck.
You married the woman who carries the child,
Satans last son, you are now in denial.
Swallow your pride this is not done in style,
we the people have brought our own trials.

Would you feel the pain,
if a million emotions hit you like rain?
Would you understand,
if they fell on you like grains of sand?
How then would you approach it,
if you were called a counterfeit.
Could you handle it?
You'd probably wanna sit.
I can tell you everything,
and man its gonna sting.

Is this the life you lead?
To take out small animals and beat them?
you don't scare me or disgust me,
but you dare me and trust me.
Is that how you wish to live?
In peril forever of karma awaking?
It should hurt you and burn you,
but your dirt stew has turned blue.

Blissfully staring at Cinderella.
Her beauty stuns, and takes your soul along a blind trip,
into her castle and you feel the wonder,
though you cannot see,
you know where you are,
but somehow you know not at all of your location,
but the feeling, Its worth all other senses to feel it for one moment.

The potent throne of pride.
Can nothing penetrate its pedestal?
Can light come through the veil that hangs over your seat?
Do the noble men know?
Do they see how far you may go just to prove to yourself that your boots are higher?
Just to show his song?
he loves you because he controls you like a kite,
but hates you because the kite of your soul may fly higher than him.
yet you still only pull gently.
what heresy is this!
How dare you wimp, to put your own life above the good will of man.
How can you sleep at night, bed full of prostitutes ******* you gently into oblivion.
You have permission to yell.
"******* *****, you are the work of Satan"and throw them off the docks.
They stole your soul.
Now use your anger to **** more.
****.
****.