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Song Until Tomorrow

Rise, rise, rise from the slums!

Come up now everyone.

The time has come to take arms at last.

With our weapons, we will destroy the past. 

History is moving at a moderate pace. But

The day is now,

To stare life in the face.

To keep what is ours and take what is ours.

To meet regression with aggression and begin a new sun.

Heaven or Hell?

Does not matter now.  

The only question to ask...


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Digital Imprint

Old world politics reversing hands of time,

A backward destination to when domination was not lost,

With limited information, tick the correct box,

Nothing is as dangerous as an opinion formed in asphalt.


Hammer away at the subconscious,

Let sleeping morals die,

Create a panic to silence an uprising;

Using children as a shield for ignorant lies,

Dial a fear to deliver a repression,

What is cornered can only hit back harder,

We are not passive; we are the temperate of men.


A war in the background of digital distractions,

The winner is the oppressor, the hand cast in gold,

Pay for the bail, then no crime was committed,

Never a rich man wore a noose like an heirloom:

Wicked indulgence passes the priest’s hand with silver.


A confession makes an obscenity a right,

Mechanical error in the beating of a heart;

Strangers spit poison, are we on our own, or an occult?

The fence divides, but it offers protection,

To sit, and ponder; to blame, and claim,

No right to an opinion, the guilty remain.


The illusion of the loyalty of slavery,

Truth is an adversary dressed in cheap clothing.

The age of enlightenment became overshadowed by reality TV,

Creation began to burrow, the death of self-control.


No love lost on splintered shores,

Ignorance buries its head,

While creation dies, greed and hunger prosper:

Futile are the ones who never believed to dream.




Obediance of Sacrifice

By the light of the fire that reaches to up to the doors of heaven, my soul cries out in mourning; a longing for the days of our fathers burns hot within my heart. Salvation for my people has faded, the ways of the past are dead, and we left to wonder these dead lands; godless, hopeless, and without vision for our children. To the gods who once blessed those of old, I offer myself as sacrifice; begging for guidance in our weakest hour, allowing my blood to cry out from the ground, to cry out as it leaves my flesh. From my lips, prayers of suffering ascend.