

Your HateThey tell me you hate me. I know why. Because I expressed myself where you didn't have the courage. Your hateful eyes were seen as I read, your jealousy inspired. Your suspicious glances did not go unnoticed. Your jealousy is in vain. The property you believe to be yours is not, but it's not mine either. I'm beginning to see, as you must someday confront, that it will never belong to me, or you, or to any other. It has its own will, its own mind, it is its own being that you cannot control. They tell me you hate me, they tell me you told. They tell me it knows that I spoke of it. &nbYour Hate


I Call It MurderDeath, an ending.I Call It Murder
People are dying, people are dying, bus rides to the beyond.
And for what purpose?
Swimming in oil, soaking in it, no reason.
There are other ways, other methods, cleaner methods.
Don't choose them though, don't choose to keep your fruits, piss them away to those who believe they are higher.
War is such an ugly word, rightly so for that which it stands.
A creation of that which is higher, bringing misery upon sons and daughters, mothers and fathers.
They who started it drag us further down the path of fire and brimstone.
All for treasure, this slippery black subs
Previous PageNext Page