Wrath turns "kindness,"
"Kindness" — poison.
Not a dream — it's
Snakes rejoicing.

Don’t dare criticize—
My armor is lies,
And up on my steed
I gallop with speed.

The honest remain
Forgotten, in vain,
While those who deceive
Will make them believe.

One strike—down they fall,
No fairness at all.
Truth’s bounds are defined,
But lies rule mankind.

A fool's work—life is fleeting,
This world is dull and grim.
Yet I stayed sane and beating—
Thanks to the "sin" of Hymn.

A "sin" to write directly
Of all that brings disgust.
So fight—write on correctly,
Stay true, preserve your trust.

World champions,
Shows, and foolish films.
And the Lyre is forgotten,
While "heroes" grow in thrills.

They praise the mind and body,
Forgetting spirit's sway.
Only the Lyre boldly
Cuts through the hollow fray.

Now but a few
Still listen to her song.
To the poet, once again,
The heights seem right, not wrong.

A creature’s in the stores, you see,
It shops most every day.
Outwardly, it’s not stupid beast —
For beasts don’t care or think, I’d say.

Striped in black and gray, life passes,
Crosswise lines—a cage we weave.
Dreams shoot forward, bright as flashes,
But to reach them—must believe.

Burn the norms, the stripes, the clutter,
Leave them all in flames to fade.
Trapped, we sink in ashen gutter,
Lost within the Hellish Shade.

Rubber people, bent and hollow,
Worship filth that they must follow.
Where the jointed freaks arise—
Is this Nature’s grand revise?