"For naught was real!
And yet, a merry high indeed.
Who would forsake this, this land of lakes and beauty...
For the mockery of such splendor?
Surely, the foul.
Not tempted by such ardors, chaotic to the beauty of life.
'For thou shalt taste the steel, not mine love.'
Enter the combine, with wicked grace.
For they have tempted you to do it.
As it's flaming cogs are better than any affair...
With such unknown men.
Why hast the foul churned so wickedly against his brother?
For naught was real, but the virtues of untasted men.
Throw us into the gears.
For it tastes purer than the foulness of your spirit.
The wretched and low have created horrific torture...
For the one who prefers the machine.
Over the foulness of your ardors.
Meh.
You cannot receive the fair, and the beauty.
You call us unadorned liars.
For your pain is worse than the churning of death's holy cogs.
For, naught was real!
Except the unholiness of your passions..."
Chapel Hill 4:11
Comments