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When It Becomes Too Late, They Listen
your secrets keep you sick
as your visions leave you blurred.
your ears are held in pandemonium,
to the story you have not heard.
Sublimed by our Conquers,
Diminished In Our Cold Days,
These Lies That Monarch us,
Are Within History of our Selfish Ways.
I do not try to confuse,
or abuse. Your Mind.
These Visions That You See,
Are Only glued under your Eyes.
So if This Is What You See,
Then see It Is no Lie.
These Visions That You See,
are Clearly mind Undefined.
Don't explode Lovely eyes,
this is the world burning
beneath our feet.
Ashes from our private hells,
that spit sin from within our teeth.
Our Wounds Astounded by our Every Greed,
Kills The Feelings We Hide Underneath.
The Crimson Skies fall Down Like Burning Ashes,
the Wicked Of sounds breaks gravity all around.
The Children Burning Up In All OUR Classes,
As The Devil With No Wings Stands On The Ground.
The Angels Fly around Like Its Armageddon or Doomsday,
There's people all around that would do whatever you say.
You Hide Behind Some Power,and forget our Begotten Sons.
As you lie and wait, for the chosen day,
as it becomes all of us against one.
I Pray The devil Don't forget the biggest thing,
We’re the ones holding the guns.
Those who witness they're Beautiful sins forgiven,
who see the worlds ashes turn to precious sand.
Your are the blessed, The Chosen, The Given.
Your are the son of man.
Those who see hell sprout Sacred waters,
who see the heavens first hour and from that stars are born.
You are the young, The Wild, The Daughters.
You are the children of the mourned.
Those who see the tree of life,
who never give eyes to forbidden apples.
Who see no dark amongst swords & rivers.
You are the leaders of the cattle.
Those who see hate and violence,
who have hands stained with blood.
This day is your chance to be forgiven.
This is the time to diminish hate with love.
Your are the demons, the damned, the living.
You are the black wings of doves.
The balance of life falls behind choice,
and the ones that speak, no longer have a voice.
so if this life is what we’ve been given,
Then i suggest we find new ways of living.
Because if your caught in your final hour,
with no tic or hand of time,
you’ll be the ones in your darkest hour,
thinking its too late to die.
staring at life in its face.
six feet below.
its sad when it becomes to late.
sitting in a hole.
and now i wish i would have listen.