When thou search for an earthly beast
And comb each avenue of thought one takes
‘Tis man you’ll find at the cupidic feast
That turns back the clock of the progress he makes
With avaricious cunning and cold calculation
He bares his soul for the blind to see
Feathering his nest with debauched machinations
With pious proclamations and stirring odes to the free
We now cast an eye on a desecrated planet
Forests barren surrounded by vast polluted oceans
How could man with God’s hands lay waste to solid granite?
When talk of Earth’s redemption is just going through the motions
A mere pebble in the universe too corrupt now to save
A terra firma wasteland, a mass human grave
No comments:
Post a Comment