Dark the con of man
Emptied in liters beyond
Setting rocks for the blind to stumble
His heart rumbles for joy at the table
As he watches the dying crumble

The clouds above will hope for tears
The jungles below begs for its showers
But the con of man will let no jungle smile
Nor heaven weep

The heart, which they bend, could not bleed
Conscience had ran its course and vanished
Pain had served its sentence and fled.
Now the heart seeks nothing but to be glad;
Even as it sets many at the cliff
To be send down the gallows of “false-truth”
Without any thought-out reasons or save route

Drip down blood of saints beyond
Wash away the guilt that set you on edge, beloved
Seek revenge from them that had sent you on errands afar.

Tear the clouds for want of what to kill
Split the heavens in search of what to slay
Their mouths must down a morsel
of what they caused you to feel.