History

Distorted ancients scratch at the misused offering of a failure,
Uncaring, yet caring for the knowledge they blessed -
and still the sword, elegant in it's carelessness
is but a passing remark on the bullet, passing from an AK47.
Freedom.

Repetitive.
Shit.
They are not here.
They did not die.
They married the ambience that is a tyrant's bloodlust.

Lessons learned, yet never learned.
No more dreaming.
No more breathing.
We are as we always were;
A plethora of insignificants on the back of a 'I have to tell myself' -
On the back of the unmajestic serpents, we have no say.

We won't stop.



- Lewis Dalton