Apocalyps

Small stories of little fools are delusions of grandeur.

Spade and dirt and heart-shaped flowers are but smirch and rule.

Pierced by thorns and bleeding and to be pigeon-holed is poisonous.

The juvenile's dream is wayward, the reflex comes mumbling.

And some of us are bleeding children

And some of us are bleeding children

And some of us are bleeding children

And so the world will fall.

Ours is a just cause.

Dyptich - Kiss The Anus Of A Black Cat