Thursday, February 4, 2016
Don't tell me about what the regime does
I am more than aware and uninterested
Its dangers are of little issue to me
While you should be wary, they hate you
And me, but not as much as they do you
Ropes and chains will deliver me out
You, what matters, sinking down into the hole
Unknown to history, remained a mystery
We may make something out of you, martyr
But no, let the old regime work its way
A terrible truth to accept that one cannot rule
But neither can all rule one, what a myth
My warning to you is to follow the guidelines
Stored in Georgia, built by the Rosicrucian
Yes, death is inbound, be ready to fight and die
Grab a gun, blow yourself, easier that way
Than to fight a great patriotic war of nonsense
To fight a survival war when nothing will be left
For freedom, democracy and whatnot, all useless
When everything begins to crumble
Brother killing brother, tremulous sights
Red over green, black over blue
Whatever did we do to end up in this hue?
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