I see the worst of the best, elated by their own idiocy,
Mindlessly slaying and reaping what they sew, returning the favor
in endless feud,
Slaughter: the focal point of society, Death: the thought is just
a game,
Living as a mountain, dying as a feather to gratify the needs of
uncaring figureheads,
To slay or be slewn by the hand which leads to the ultimate
always,
The hand which was made great by elated insipidly,
Created by the worst of the best, to shepherd the asinine
butchery for sheep, by sheep.















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