03-27-2013, 03:30 AM
Time of our Lives edit 1.5, milo. Is this better? I snuck in another edit to gegengewicht milo
heslopian,trueenigma,leanne
heslopian,trueenigma,leanne
Bruised blue and broken veined, the corpse of failed incursions
lies between two worlds. Belief made grief the penalty
and unclaimed sand the prize; there are no losers.
Death is paradise by promise, or your heaven is not real.
Where lies the greater difference? We die to live again
or we die to live no more. We choose the road to misery,
yet cry when we are lost. The body, holding high the head
of cranial delusions, leaks brine borne tears from blood and bone,
piss, bile and sweat from sainted souls. There is no virtue, though,
for sinners, thieves and sodomists, sanguine slaughterers of State,
the creeping killers in the night, and all the foment of the failed
who lunge and strike with knife to heart and boot to skull;
with these shared mortal blocks they fabricate themselves.
A flag held proud and hoist on shanks of calcium...is just a flag;
perhaps the Colours change, but the cloth is all the same.
What differs then, in this short term, when by our nature
we permit kings and gods to make false claims to reverence?
Only this. When ends the shift, each battered body lies alone.
We take no sides, we do not have such will; we only think we care.
Though we are one, still there is a battle we must fight perchance to lose.
Death is one world, and life the other. We all fall in between.
tectak
2013
lies between two worlds. Belief made grief the penalty
and unclaimed sand the prize; there are no losers.
Death is paradise by promise, or your heaven is not real.
Where lies the greater difference? We die to live again
or we die to live no more. We choose the road to misery,
yet cry when we are lost. The body, holding high the head
of cranial delusions, leaks brine borne tears from blood and bone,
piss, bile and sweat from sainted souls. There is no virtue, though,
for sinners, thieves and sodomists, sanguine slaughterers of State,
the creeping killers in the night, and all the foment of the failed
who lunge and strike with knife to heart and boot to skull;
with these shared mortal blocks they fabricate themselves.
A flag held proud and hoist on shanks of calcium...is just a flag;
perhaps the Colours change, but the cloth is all the same.
What differs then, in this short term, when by our nature
we permit kings and gods to make false claims to reverence?
Only this. When ends the shift, each battered body lies alone.
We take no sides, we do not have such will; we only think we care.
Though we are one, still there is a battle we must fight perchance to lose.
Death is one world, and life the other. We all fall in between.
tectak
2013