Hope for a dieing man is a rope that will take his hand
Lost within iniquity, creeds of great and tales of renown
they are his government
Like Christ, a mere mortal who died for nothingness

Tales that past from father to child, to control the feeble of mind
Without false gratuity, the world would be washed in chaos
But in chaos, one is tested to cross the fire.

Dire is the path of the man who walks as Satan walks.
He believes not in or of the presence of the almighty God
He believes in himself, the greatness that he can be
Without a rope…without false hope

If to worship one’s self, believe in one’s self, and worship no one
but yourself, is to make a bed in hell
Then one is being deprived of loving one’s self
That be the case, many will have a bed to sleep in

Before there is power there is pain
She will drown in her sorrow and burn like ashes
A life suffocating in a cocoon
Living with her torment, enveloped in darkness
Arisen anewed from her abyss with wings of beauty and darkness

Without aid or vice,
he lived out his oppressions
His tale will not be inadequacy, owing all his prosperity to bullshit!
But it Will be a story of glory, and his own to cherish

Cassie Bernall will bask in the black of a nether region
Forever knowing that her creed and foundation did not protect her
No miracles, just the heat of piercing silver through the bone
Of an ignorant girl, who was blinded by deceit

If only this decaying species would learn to govern without folly
Don’t cast away priceless time in dreams and imagination
fed upon illusion, or you shall be put to death by reality…