Empires, funeral pyres
Both fall under flames
This ends, begins
Once more, it’s the same
We die, I cry
Break rhythm, this is contrived
A smile creeps over your beak
Heat on the skin as It cracks
Under the weight of the seed prodigy
A leaf on my back nicks the skin
Peace, land and bread, no hallucinogens
This is straight edge, timber plank
We cry and the glass shatters
A mirror that reflects in negative tones
We’re in this desire, a stream
Flanking left and right before the Madonna
Dark veil of the convent, coven, draped across
The altar, consummated, priest outraged
Revolutions flames burn only where there
Is not fire, a life lost over the
Heart’s of fifteen men, a family erased
The hand of God, the body of parliament
The child of industry, the destitute family
Strings pulled, they all fail
For all’s quiet on your front
Heroine needles and small children
Mislead in the heat of a lamb’s passion
A countryside hill and your family, Bolshevism
It’s all over now, you fail

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