More than swords in the ground can rust
I fade and wither, I choke and splutter
For the taste of sin is as corrosive lust
My ***** in winter, like yolk or butter
That is the tongue tilling bounds of time
The book states the fruit of tongue is death
I planted seeds in every vineyard for wine
They’re drunk on my beauties, each breath
Of nonsense ushering their apocalypse
Yet, I never wished for this, I know the truth
I never envisioned a world on the brink
Of oblivion, neglected old, putrid youth
It all turned hellish in the wake of a blink
I never listened, because I was always deaf
My passion faded till there wasn’t any left
I never heard the screams, shouts, cries,
But when it all burned down I smiled,
That was the music even enjoyed in silence,
The great machine of enslavement toppled
Laid to waste and rot was the factory of violence.