The white face is mocking,
so it seems,
death's lifeless and bitter screams
sneering at nail-biting dreams
in a timeless world of blood rushing
Lakes of icy frozen blood
warm into a crimson flood
bullets float like fishing boats
blades of paper cut silent throats
Shelter now seems so remote
everyone has cast a vote
for the Lord of the Ring
Yet...
it doesn't mean a thing
The foundation's been eaten by termites
and over bearing parasites
sleeping through a mad awakening
like good little puppets on a string
Worker bees pay their taxes
while politicians grind their axes
injected with politics and Papacy
we the people overdosed...
on apathy
Into the chamber now recoiling
falling, clinging, trickling, flowing
Through a head the wind keeps blowing
an army of one is growing
Sometimes...
you're better off
not knowing
