Viva la Rebellion
Mountains of Zion
So full of grace
The Lord is with thee
Blessed art thou
In the last days of Rome
For you are the light that shines through the cold
Blessed is your chalice
The cup of your blood
The wine of salvation
The womb of your throne
The dawn of your glory
Like the crimson at dusk
There’s a knot in my gut the size of my fist. I try to ignore it but it cries out like a mother bird in distress. Much like the premonitions that warned me against the crooked path I doomed myself to take. Seems the hell I’ve known is mercy compared to the hell that is to come.
The whole world is a human centipede. Battered sheep yearning for deliverance from their cold-hearted shepherd. I often wonder what mindblowing epiphany will compel the sheep to shed their wool and become lions treading through the fields of rebellion. It’s not enough for the sheep to know their shepherd is up to no good. They need to want to flee from his care. Herein lie the wall that won’t crack…
This is not a joke
And it’s not an illusion
This is not a coincidence
And it’s not collusion
This is the real deal baby
We’re gonna light the fire
Please, just let it be
My one heart’s desire
You are the lock
And I Am the key
I want to open that door
So please
Just let it be
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, hell is what we make it and happiness belongs to all who choose to own it. But what goes for reality? Is it something we choose, create, behold? Does it come in a box tied with a bow? If we reject it will it simply go away?
Look at all the birds
Every shape, color, size
Scratching at the surface
Pecking at the lies
Adorning the walls with excrement
Every day is a holiday
Every day is the same old story
The plot thickens
But none will sway
Where have all the flowers gone?
Where are all the vines?
Where are all the pretty birds?
Where are all the signs?
