Once a disassembled existance,
I was burdened within a gyre of unending thought.
Pressing through time with little resistance,
I did what I pleased, knowing naught
Of the troubles to come,
The consequences, the shame,
The cognizant lips, shedding disgust on my name.
How could they know my motivation, my cause?
By love, I was drawn into sinfulness' jaws.
The serpant looked upon his creation, and thought it was good.
The seventh day.
Encompassed in the arms of lust and chained my senseless securities
I was hypnotized by his slithering charms and his sure guarantees
of fulfillment and trust and love.
Love is patient, love is kind,
love is a joke, love is lies
when presented as a game percieved as a prize.