If you think that society is order then
Ain’t no wicked for the rest
Living you start to die inside
Just a little more each day
Closer to the answers
Forgetting to ask the question first
You taste the order of your own death
What is so rotten within?
The dullards call it sin
Seven deadly ones are not so risky
I practice each and every one daily
With no ill effects
And respect, don’t make me laugh
There is no reverence one swine to the next
In the gold lined pig pen
Stink lubricates love
Terror grows dependence on scoundrels
Lies sweet lies is proof against “The Truth”
And evil necessary to fuel good
Emptiness of the land of moral men
Betrayal and genocide have lost their meaning
It happens every day in every way
We just don’t care since our humanity
Is dissolved in a pool of holy putrescence
Copyright 2009 by George Thirteen.
Taken from “My Van Gogh Years”
