Death, an ending.
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 substance which is drained from the Earth.
Is death worth this? Is it?
Does it matter?
They control us, more and more as years slowly tick by.
No choices, out of choices, out of hope, out of life.













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