4 June 2012
I saw the angels singing of death. The last of the brave, unleashing their wrath. It was all in the old scriptures, the lies we wouldn't believe. So many a warning, so hard to see. We all saw it coming, but wouldn't believe. We were all busy, busy little bees. Creating our nests, making protests. We realized they were going to take our unearned right to love. They would come, and make fault of us all.
The angels sang of fire and rain, while we were desperately clinging on to our pain. Chopping away on our mothers fine leg, making her fall, as we drove out the dead. Burning their corpses, so many enslaved. We used their ashes for our roads to pave. We walked in our ignorance upon the bodies of the long gone, and dead.
When our judgement day finally came, we were unprepared, still wishing we'd been played. The toxic gasses of every bomb ever blown, filled the air, and soon it was shown, that these acts in the name of peace, were the source of our frustration, and why we couldn't find peace.
Haunting memories were laid on our heads, memories of lost times, memories of death. We were supposed to have woken up, not supposed to give up, but in the end we were all too brittle and frail, to take our duty and rid ourselves of the pain.
Now we all know what's left to do. We'll leave for hell and take the punishment due. The angels drag us wailing and screaming through the streets, in one last act of love, our hearts laid on the sheets. There's no more time for denying, when this war is over, there will be no more lying.
In a new world we will rise, punished and depressed, but incredibly wise. We will be fit to spread love once again. No more hate and no more pain. No more war, and no more suffering. The world will finally be one, united in eternal love. Our damnation is only one part, to teach us a valuable lesson. Not to drive us apart.
The Story Of Man • Opuss № I