I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known.

I watched Hell's Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before.

I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known.

And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards.

A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah.

And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves.

Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the ***" prevents any Rabbits from multiplying.

But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me.

So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.

Dark mystic faith healing powers once found a way. Upon the cold bridge parapet a bloodied boot left for what seemed like days. What about the revolver fired from point blank range? Does this mean the antichrist had a face?

Somewhere between circus and cabaret an audience would gather as if to breathe life into this one remarkably viable lie. From Paris to Miami but with only one grand disguise. She could not dance far enough to escape those piercing dark eyes. And so it appears the truth had been hiding in plain sight.

But what of a fool that would invite spiritualism into his own house? The sovereign family penetrated by an occult Doctor Faust. Within only weeks of a ****** revolution such a leader would surely be cast out. Due to these tragic circumstances the monarchy would never again enter the Winter Palace.

This asylum seeking bloodline must now rule from afar. A private Windsor education was the most imaginable start. Now in a cozy sea breeze California community lives The Boy Who Would Be Tsar. The great Prince Andrew, sovereign curator of American folk art.

The arid lands we’ve been through seem presumptively behind us now. Some man once heard a trickling stream of water and ever since we’ve been chasing it down. Set upon self preservation and yearning for nirvana we eagerly leave behind the crowd. In our desperate endeavour for paradise we keep setting traps because we just can’t help ourselves.

We race toward the euphoria of splashing water on our face, but as we advance, the sound never really goes away. Our numbers falter, and to our own traps we fall prey. We write off our brothers and sisters for we believe they cannot be saved.

How can I maintain this frantic pace? Every step I take I’m creating a new and more complicated hell! It was that moment where I took my mind off the destination that I stumbled myself. Surrounded by friends and family I screamed for help! Alone, I, for the first time noticed the landscape in which I fell…

I stood ankle deep within the cool water of a gentle flowing stream. It was here I denounced that paradoxical man made dream and in this new reality I’ve made my home thankfully. Thankful that with unfailing love you still lead the people you’ve redeemed.

I've been lost losing my mind in an old testament law
So I left that derelict soul at a dark and lonely liberty hall
Jesus Christ whats the point dwelling on such a hateful life
My body could perish in these dreadful mountains anyway and you would have been right

If I've got five more minutes I'll take everything back
Spare these proud and colourful souls from any more passive aggressive attacks
I won't mirror the reflection of a corporate misunderstanding
Our identity doesn't need to create tension with ****** misunderstanding

Don’t tell me about the current state of my death trapped soul
I wanna loose my body over this hairpin turn and never even know
Guide me out from within these winding Virginia mountains
I wanna reach out with your warm spirit grip if you'd allow it

Because whats the point in loosing our mission to a ******* old testament law
We all just want to believe the same stories to believe the same God.

Every week we fill our church ward with joy while we write another cheque to our entrepreneurial Freud.
So strike me down with foreign tongues and anointing oil like an iron lung.
It doesn't matter if our soul was fake when St. Peter's got his foot in the gate...
Everyone here's religious and depressed but won't drill another hole until the tables have been upset.
I've been meaning to tell you the bad taste you acquired over time was an unfortunate product of my pessimistic mind.
And I can't follow this church through fear and mindless thought but that doesn't mean there's no God.