Don't look at me and say you see
good,
They don't like that. The way
my hands are caked in colour. The way
the wall behind me is now
desecrated, they say, how can you
question those who wear
well with grain on their
lips?

The grain is their gun and
it's always on their
lips.

If you want to find out about someone’s character you ask them how do they gauge truth, or how do they know something is true?

Most will say because so and so said so, some variant of outsourced knowledge. Some "Religion." Some "Scientist." Some "Dr." Some "Guru." Some "Parent." Some "Mother." Some "Father." Some "Thought triggered by someone else." Some “Theory.”

Rare people will say they don’t know, they’re a bit more evolved because they see the conditioning. They see the confusion.

The rarer people will say they know because they’ve observed for themselves, not blindly, but with purity enough to observe correctly.

We- The streets that fathered the lost freaks. 
Let them step on us, **** on us. Now the whole town reeks
of defeat. The concrete crumbles under their feet. 
Splits and cracks now the living and hell dwellers meet. 

Soulless creatures cut the preachers nose from his face. 
Tie his ******* knot to stop the loud talk. 
Then chase the lost children away from gods grace 
to taste lust on their young tongues. To waste breath 

    with blackened lungs. 

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down? 

We- the town that belongs down here now-  
Watch the children bow to the man with the crown now. 
Red skin, black suit-  and it really burns how
his tongue twists truth like a noose for a neck. “Bow

      Your little heads”.

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down? 

The little flowers in full bloom don’t long for a groom. 
Instead they swoon for the creatures and take them to their room. 
The smell of sweat, lust and perfume. We can only presume 
That it won’t be long before theres a monster in the womb. 

      An Ungodly creation.   

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down?

The first baby is born- and every parent is mourning. 
The devil has sworn that by the time his hairs thorning
he will be all knowing- they will be saved by his fore-warnings. 
Unless, torn by his human half he seeks a quiet cold morning 

     above ground. 

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down?

And What can a parent do? Staring at the cold truth
in their fiery endless doom, they can only cry for the fate of the youth.  
They can only obey the orders of the red crown and black suit.
They can only watch as he takes each and every single tooth

    of their young.  

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down?

The new mother struggles without a man to aid her.
Her earthly father smuggles food to try and save her
and her young two week old son from their slaver.
But caught, he’s left to rot and told over and over he betrayed her.

     His blooded hands cease fighting.  

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down?
    
 We are the redemption of an eye for an eye.
We are the blind world that it leads to.  
We are the bodies hung high and dry.

*You are but the mouth that this world feeds through.