The Grand Theology - Sterbhaus

Gullible gluttony

Consumes the evolution while peddling,

Bartering unending supplies of lies

And the all-knowing moron

Feeding gladly on the farce

That’s all essentially just make-believe of man

Saintified — A vile cancer infecting the whole

And the cure is the poison that’s free to the soul!

Slick as sin — sweet suicide

Now that it’s time to revive the contemplating of patricide

Yet again — another one dead

Found headlong in the rectory

The sick and old are the last to know

And always first to go

Is there no one here to claim the price

Of a septic death of own device?

When one simple silver coin would suffice

Now what if you were already dead?

Not born from nothing to the inbred line of your ilk

In rhyme and reason never torn, bereft of wit and scorned

Patriarch of the damned

…Now there’s a demon in the midst

How dear its' death would be to me

And to all of the human breed

But Ha!

No…

It begs me for just another dime

Another silver coin for everlasting afterlife

That so in the event of war

Raging from shore to shore

My soul thanks to your wealth

Is to be safely cured

The book of old

First come first serve in the pyre of a virgin birth

Now to pay your dues, to pay your toll

For living in this hole of a home

Where to weigh the weight of your soul

Is but to carry the weight on own

Man’s defeat alone

Here in Rome wrinkled old gnomes

Carve their way thru moldy old tomes

And now to bury the bone

First come first serve in the pyre of unholy worth

And so you squabble in your church

Keep asking God to be the first

To turn the other cheek

To practice what you preach

You’re bound by crimes to canonize the wise

When born never having a choice in life

A nude dude on a cross seems nice

Seems better in the dark and the cold

And when you seek to atone for growing old

One thousand years will pass you by

I promise you will still be dead rotting in the ground

But skin and bones, with our without God

So true ignorance is bliss

It seems to cut and never miss

When the flesh is mushy and the skin is thin

It cuts deeper to pull you in

So… what about to plug the «but»

And store some feces for the lot

See you’re the best at own behest

A crude malignant carven cyst

None here will wield the rod?

None here will stand and walk the walk

A Golgotha for all, when barking mad I precede the fall