Chained and taken by batty hellions,

tossed into a ditch,

carpeted by scales and fangs,

pitched-forked enforcers

riding dragonback,

and directed by the Angel

in gold and black.



Blocked within by the numbers

and letters, scratched upon

two stony walls,

locked out of peace

by bearded martyrs,

who counsels

their judgment calls?



A man with a head in his hand

philosophizes like Hamlet at the climax.

The robes of crosses stand above.

The skeletons sheltered down below.



Perhaps, it is the feet above their herald heads

beyond the borders of apocalypse,

pouring rivers of blood, but who counsels their judgement calls?



Beyond a smoking dome,

under a bridge to drown,

the souls now doomed to an inferno, forever bound.



But where is the one who is to come?

Shall He ever show His face before this day is done?

Perhaps He arrived before our eyes

for a second time.



But, where is the one who is to come?

Shall He ever show His face before this day is done?

And, has he already left us under the morning sun?



Forward through the abyss, where is the place to come?

Shall we ever reach before this nothing comes?

Any way now, this place could come down, obliteration.



Forward through the abyss, where is the place to come?

Shall we ever reach before this nothing comes?

Any day now, this place could come down, obliteration.



Nirvana postponed due to the lacking of funds, no outlet for salvation.

No grounds planned for construction, are we waiting for a savior to come?



Fuck no!



I’m not letting go of the show; we’re taking control.

The weight has been spread throughout this chaos; confusion spreads.



Delirium drains the best of our heads.

Sell ourselves short for the paperwork?



Fuck no!



I’m not waiting for any process.

No respite left, look into yourself.



My patience reached its end. I’m taking all that’s left.

I’m making my own place; you’re either in or out.



I have no patience left as we fall in from the abyss that has no end.

I make my own self by slaying my own hell through the torment.

Now in the hands of the Morning Star, it’s not enough to drown us now.