Each time that I bring, my pen to paper. I am troubled to think, that sooner then later. We will jump from this ledge, and watch the world burn. We will return to the gallows, awaiting our turn.
For each day that passes, the moon drifts away. As if it is saying, "I can no longer stay, and watch you destroy, all that is right. I wont be an accessory, to the worlds constant fight."
"You dream of a heaven, that you never will see. You speak of a new world, that never will be. And yet in the evening, when the sun is no more. You pray to a god, that wars are fought for."
"What kind of a god lets the innocent die? What kind of a god pens a book filled with lies? The one you created, in the image of man. The one you created, to carry out your plan. "
"So don't look to the night sky, and expect to see me. My face smiling down, on man, land, and sea. Cause it pains me to think, that you would create. A planet, a god, filled with an ever glowing hate."