10-27-2015, 08:13 PM
Old blood in young hearts foams faith and foment;
over-kill war in an over-spill land.
Children play games but live for the moment,
play Seek-the-Fire leaves a hole in red sand.
Paradise, paradise, hole in red sand.
Sisters in burkas live for tomorrow;
wailing in anguish yet praising each death.
Sharia masks the sham shame of sorrow,
as history lied, when god took a breath.
Paradise, paradise, god took a breath.
Hear this Lord roar, and quake in His presence;
know that with this God to die is the prize.
Defeat is glory, glory quintessence,
a paradox Pyrrhic seen through closed eyes.
Paradise, paradise, seen through closed eyes.
This the last battle, fought from within us,
cells of a cancer in all of our blood.
Broad cytotoxins mean that no winners
survive to pass on the memes of the good.
Paradise, paradise, memes of the good.
This game will end, a final solution;
a mother will cry with uncovered face.
Red rain that falls is Prophet's pollution;
man grows immune, but it’s death to blind faith.
Paradise, paradise…death to blind faith.
tectak and twitter
2015
Edit 1
Genetic Faith
Hot blood in hearts breeds faith in fury;
war in over-spill, over-kill land.
Young men are never children here;
all games are real. Play seek-the-fire,
die-to-live, safe in Virgin’s wombs.
Sisters, blank in burka, bedlam
wail, yet praise each death.
Sharia shades the shame of tear-fall;
once others cried, pride in the godhead,
masked behind His smoke and flame.
Hear the crack and quake of triumph,
but know that only death brings peace.
Defeat is glory to the fallen; a Pyrrhic paradox.
In last recourse, like cancer cells,
they move in blood of infidels.
The strategy is wisely chosen...
metastasise, fight from within;
Crude cytotoxins kill the patient
so no cure this, unless by time
genetic traits will slowly fade.
Now the boys have killed their quota,
mothers have gathered cells of sons
that rain down from prophet's hands.
This is the end...the dying writhing.
Not of mankind, but of blind faith.
Praise be.
tectak
Original
Hot blood in hearts breeds faith in fury;
war in an over-spill, over-kill land.
No young men live for childhood here,
but for the fire that burns them back
into the wombs of virgins.
Their sisters, dark beneath the cloth,
make wails yet praise their brother's deaths;
tears fall in shame into Shariah shade.
Come to this place and meet the godhead,
smell His smoke and see His flame.
Hear the crack and quake of triumph,
but know that only death can save.
Defeat is glory to the fallen; to win, a pyrrhic paradox.
The cancer cells are in the lymph
and in the blood of infidels.
The strategy is wisely chosen...
metastasise, kill from within.
There is no cure, there is no answer.
Cytotoxins kill the body;
belief will loose genetic hold.
All the boys have killed their quota,
mothers have gathered cells of sons,
raining down from the prophet's hands.
This is the end...the dying writhing.
Not of mankind, but of blind faith. Praise be.
tectak
2015
over-kill war in an over-spill land.
Children play games but live for the moment,
play Seek-the-Fire leaves a hole in red sand.
Paradise, paradise, hole in red sand.
Sisters in burkas live for tomorrow;
wailing in anguish yet praising each death.
Sharia masks the sham shame of sorrow,
as history lied, when god took a breath.
Paradise, paradise, god took a breath.
Hear this Lord roar, and quake in His presence;
know that with this God to die is the prize.
Defeat is glory, glory quintessence,
a paradox Pyrrhic seen through closed eyes.
Paradise, paradise, seen through closed eyes.
This the last battle, fought from within us,
cells of a cancer in all of our blood.
Broad cytotoxins mean that no winners
survive to pass on the memes of the good.
Paradise, paradise, memes of the good.
This game will end, a final solution;
a mother will cry with uncovered face.
Red rain that falls is Prophet's pollution;
man grows immune, but it’s death to blind faith.
Paradise, paradise…death to blind faith.
tectak and twitter
2015
Edit 1
Genetic Faith
Hot blood in hearts breeds faith in fury;
war in over-spill, over-kill land.
Young men are never children here;
all games are real. Play seek-the-fire,
die-to-live, safe in Virgin’s wombs.
Sisters, blank in burka, bedlam
wail, yet praise each death.
Sharia shades the shame of tear-fall;
once others cried, pride in the godhead,
masked behind His smoke and flame.
Hear the crack and quake of triumph,
but know that only death brings peace.
Defeat is glory to the fallen; a Pyrrhic paradox.
In last recourse, like cancer cells,
they move in blood of infidels.
The strategy is wisely chosen...
metastasise, fight from within;
Crude cytotoxins kill the patient
so no cure this, unless by time
genetic traits will slowly fade.
Now the boys have killed their quota,
mothers have gathered cells of sons
that rain down from prophet's hands.
This is the end...the dying writhing.
Not of mankind, but of blind faith.
Praise be.
tectak
Original
Hot blood in hearts breeds faith in fury;
war in an over-spill, over-kill land.
No young men live for childhood here,
but for the fire that burns them back
into the wombs of virgins.
Their sisters, dark beneath the cloth,
make wails yet praise their brother's deaths;
tears fall in shame into Shariah shade.
Come to this place and meet the godhead,
smell His smoke and see His flame.
Hear the crack and quake of triumph,
but know that only death can save.
Defeat is glory to the fallen; to win, a pyrrhic paradox.
The cancer cells are in the lymph
and in the blood of infidels.
The strategy is wisely chosen...
metastasise, kill from within.
There is no cure, there is no answer.
Cytotoxins kill the body;
belief will loose genetic hold.
All the boys have killed their quota,
mothers have gathered cells of sons,
raining down from the prophet's hands.
This is the end...the dying writhing.
Not of mankind, but of blind faith. Praise be.
tectak
2015