Your thousand shows of force
are fleeting eternally
and do not make me feel frightened anymore.
I lost all fear from seeing the weakest among us run
full forward face first into the strike of the lightning.
Well what have you ever done
but be born a fortunate son.
I don't believe your us vs. them
when it is just you who does the taking.
Cyanide words are launched and all that's behind you is lost
but I do not fear your monochrome delusions.
Standing outside your fort
armor lies at our feet,
and truth will pierce your power though steel might pierce this body.
You struck your mark so you lost
your fever is sickness and need
You destroy the weak and for that no god would ever forgive you.
Steel strobe and engine fuel
made us sick for awhile
as though you know what a wave sounds like when it crashes.
And the parasite thoughts of one
that lion is left with its crumbs,
just born into a bloodline,
you didn't grow those teeth cause you earned them.
There's nothing that you've ever done
but be born a fortunate one
and when the fire burns out,
you're dead star, black hole, empty body.
Your destiny it was sealed before we even emptied our lungs.
That all your power has been a life led,
so pathetic,
and fleeting.
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