my baby girl cried as i swirled it from
side to side. I hate fools that refuse orders
from the superior socialist; they'll be found on my stage.
In a crown made of thorns, broken and immobilized by their
own weight. We hope they enjoyed their final ride.
Their daughters were escorted to the gas chamber
from the other side.
I advice everyone to Practice and mind their conscience;
hurt it. Revoke it back to the Jews. Tell
friends, family and partners that communism will be disposed of
tonight, thrown seven times into the burning furnace in between evening sacrifice.
Bleed for me. Tell me again that the gods aren't real.
Michel, under the stars floating in his side of the sky disappearing in fives,
just which is the Jesus out of the lot of you?
Just tell Holland that i haven't forgotten about them. I'll be waiting, on that stage; rocking my chair on the porch, waiting for them to knell under my feet as i explain to them my ideology.
"Father why do you do these things" my Daughter cried.
"Sooner or later you'll have to accept it... my dear."