In him a demon that’s keepin him hostage. Even when sleepin he’s dreamin of promise. Seein no reason he’s needin a conscience. Screamin and swingin like he was a mash pit.
Season to season its re-runs of lost wits. Strings of his peace must have begun to drop quick. He must have enough of these drugs to stop it. Because the legion has reaped up his profit.
And sobs heard were proverbs but not learned in classes. The bought curse will cost earth as crops burn to ashes. With all sin the fallen will call in the masses. And strong men will stall them til all ends and passes.