From the stolen hopes of captured souls;
From a tongue weaved of dead matter..
The promise of a wealth spoken in golden sound..
From a land created of battery-powered fixtures…
And the metal establishment designed to fit you in their suffering..
Illuminates the free youths hungry for a new vision..
..For a new world.
Long due is the tyrant , lost in the head,
whose extended lifetime is sustained by other people’s life-force .. for a look at its own condition.
Speak and die
Or silence and long-suffering..
Shouldn’t the answer be clear enough?
When so tangled in the machine’s wires,
When will it be enough for us to evolve from a sheep?
We are the ones that actually hold the real flame; the true light.
We are the ones with the power to burn the old.
…When will we let ourselves die?
..die in the old?
The Death that is the end of suffering…