A whisper in the head.
Eyes as cold as tundra.
With a mind that’s barren-no-dead.
And insanity goes on forever.
So you repeat your hallucinations.
And press them on a people.
Then asks for money, not bread.
While they sit under your steeple.
Then condemn them to gain control.
And pretend to be perfect.
While some die giving they’re all.
And still you would rather reject.
When the truth comes to light.
And everyone sees it clear.
You won’t be able to fight.
And control no longer will you steer.
You yourself will come to know.
All the wrong you’ve done.
You’ll see you’re not the only fool.
That pride…not wisdom…has won.
©2014 J.C.S. All rights reserved.