Before the Blasphemy

Have not the little fireflies died in the hands of children?
Snuffed like the sun at dusk.
But I'm not like the little fireflies.
I do not die so easy.
For I know not any man who can within his hands,
Hold me.
Instead I curse under the oppression
Of gods I've never known,
And in their grasp is choked
The mind that gives my life,
So laugh or cry.
It makes no difference,
Should you go to Heaven,
And I to Hell,
The facts remain,
A holy war this be...
And I leave no god in my wake.


Stick to your silly facade,
I'll stick to mine,
In the end it doesn't matter,
We all are buried under them anyway.

Laughing at the Bells

How evil is my pain?
That man and god can throw stones in the canyons
and make the thunder roll.
These are not the acts of kings beneath the mountains,
crying for the tender chill of Death.
Know that you should stand before the armies of angels
and speak only blasphemies,
and that you may swim in the depths of the void
and feel only as a fly...
stuck within the free confines of a spiders web.
Wake not to your commands.
Live not the dance played by fools.
Walk unto the gates of fire and ice,
naked and fearful,
and tell the master of all...
to go bleed somewhere.

Indeed... how evil is my pain?
I like being me.

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