Dear Preacher


The sky has turned grey, the world a state of decay.

What is there left to do, when they all count on you?

Save them from a god, who they think no longer cares?

Bring them into the light of truth and disappoint them?


All those wasted years, and see what they've become.

Nothing but bugs, squashing themselves into the ground.

There is a plague on this earth, and people call it faith.

Monsters scare people, so why did they choose this?


They question the beginning of time, "it had to be a power."

But I'm here to say no, it's just how it is.

They mock those who see straight, for being blind to their ideas.

They made a world covered in darkness, and a sky that is no longer blue.


Lips are turning pale, as bodies continue to pile.

Why does their peace bring war, to justify beliefs for a while?

This feeling conjured deep inside, is nothing less than a birth squeeze.

After truth fell out of my eyes, the feeling grew like a newborn.


Do you know how much I loved her, do you have a clue?

She was starlight in the gloom, a glimpse of hope in the doom.

And now she lays frozen, in the sands of time with the worms.

Does this make you happy, if so, start preaching.




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