Lyrical benevolence, pressuring the evidence Of God, is sin.
Calling all the eyes: end the compromising felonies.
Grow up like plants, built to crumble but spread decadence.
A dream. An act: up upon the tallest tower, where God is.
The flower, the seed, or the one you can’t obtain is never to be questioned.
It is all about the pain, the gain, and the feeling you all want
And the green, the prize, yet the one that will devour the earth, is God.
All the evidence is clear, and yet you fight like you’ve got powers,
Collecting all our enemy’s equipment so that we can wallow
Into shadows of debt, yeah, it’s all of us, we’re cowards.
In all of us. I am not a dream; we’ve got the power
To put an end to all the starving and the mining of our hearts,
Our souls, our wallets, and our brightest.
It’s our country; it will fall without you, like the Romans.
Can’t you see? It consumes us all. We only have a little time.
Rising waters, gas, and the chronic feeling of pain are coming.
Our God, envy, hell, and snow will reign upon us.
Got to go, got to run to the tallest tower you’ll ever know,
Not blinded by the fluorescence of the light that man makes.
For poetry and more about God, visit Mecella.