This skin seeks sin like magnets mixed en masse,
Like masked men seeking clashes of class affront
With barrels loaded full of pasts unpassed
On sprees to feed the beast aflame in hunt.
They call the end of time by signs divined
From view, aghast at fallen crews renewed,
But fail to stand object and thus they pine
For Man's rescue and claim the needed cue.
Sordid aggregates sour our state of peace
By sloth that's left to act in fear of fear
And point out splinters quick from woody lease
Although we know those seers are not sincere.
The way is long and hard, the path is thick
With tic's, but trust this course is not a trick.
-MMF
Comments