To the men with the flame in their eyes passed down through lines Where action magnifies the fear Lying in the wake of a hand. Bulldozing the world you're already burning is somehow a celebrating epoch for you as if the lives stolen each become fuel generating lack of remorseful woe. You stole their talk, silencing worlds The fur queen cannot kiss if they are dead. Crushed are the flowers once blooming year round, bloody are the chambers where life was found. Oh, the wolves you are with collection of innocence your museums of momentous mutilation leaving tracks as you obsessively devour your prey. It is a game we are all forced to play as you ensure yourselves a spot on the highest pedestal granting immunity for your knife for as the others begin to kill your 'joy' the arms race quickens as if you haven't had your foot hampering down on the neck since misinterpreting God. To the men with the flame in their eyes manifesting his destiny, slow down your spinning heads. Soon it will all turn to ash and when all is burned you will look around and find a new other, heavy breathing, with the same scour you've always worn And raise the stakes again.
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