Kneel and face your demise,
He stares back at you with cold and unforgiving eyes.
Best to die with a sense of pride, better to leave with hate on the world, to think every other man scum,
But that wouldn't be wise.
The Great takes no pity on the fallen, the slaves,
Those raped or stabbed, bleeding for days,
Lying on the floor,
Crying out "Please no more!"
But The Great takes no pity on the weak, nary a thought for those in pain,
It's better to die forgotten, rather than to die a stain.
But those who are strong will survive, they will dominate,
Luxury is superior to love, compassion lesser than pride,
Must you continue to think you have hope?
It's a pitiful belief, that any one being can feel anything besides greed,
So, then, perfection is a state of mind, the way to rise above others,
The path to escape the fires of hell is to slay and to make others bleed.
Peace is an illusion, nothing more than a fable,
Cries of the children, hoping that their lives will leave darkness and become stable.
A blind echo in the winding ways of purity, to be owned is better than dead, and to own is to live,
The ones forgotten are the ones that give.