To the vast emptiness you believe in,
memorized cursed faces,
breathe in dying lies.
Which do you prefer?
Protest vulgarities
and we'll shoot you
between blood shot eyes.
We are not real.
Secret?
Yours bides time in your eyes
the stench of ****
rolls off your priest collar.
You're high
taking the bible too literally.
The confession booth
is so much less than truth.
Sunday seems like a good day
to betray your faith
and **** every *****
that's been lured into your cellophane faith.