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Magor-Misabib or Gun Control
Jeremiah 20:10 For I heard the defaming of many, fear on every
side...
There was a time,
When men were in, and of the wild,
and women expected to work, to protect, and to bear many a child,
but we have grown, and we have known
the horrors that our creations to the earth have concieved and born.
The lives once lost, are lost forever.
For the distance, we build bridges that are left, uncrossed.
Tell me, please.
What science can rule out truth of right and wrong?
Who is left to give the law of God?
Who is left to interpret the omniscient wind?
Who has returned to earth to tell of life after?
Who carries in their heart the Om of those who seek to defend?
If he or she exists I long to listen!
For I doubt I’ll ever know.
There is no hunter of man, or beast,
There is no politician, currency hungry—that will feast
at all; but with a side of human sacrament.
Each day we’re left with less resolve
over metal and fire that revolve,
and then, knife and vice with guns conspire…
Don’t you see the uselessness of speech?
Don’t you see there’s crimson from beach to beach,
On every piece of Pangea that spread?
There they are, count the dead!
Or go ahead and hoard your power
One side or the other,
because in the end,
with one, Earth shattering, final breath,
it is in death,
that peace prevails.
She is perfect stillness, no tongues move.
There is no one that I’ve met that speaks from beyond the grave,
for walking dead are fan-fare fiction
with which you rot your brain.
They, the plethora of invisible unified spirit,
they cannot teach us, how to cure
complacency and self-destruction.
Yes, I see it, Magor-Misabib.
Gun control is
the global suicide mission.
When men were in, and of the wild,
and women expected to work, to protect, and to bear many a child,
but we have grown, and we have known
the horrors that our creations to the earth have concieved and born.
The lives once lost, are lost forever.
For the distance, we build bridges that are left, uncrossed.
Tell me, please.
What science can rule out truth of right and wrong?
Who is left to give the law of God?
Who is left to interpret the omniscient wind?
Who has returned to earth to tell of life after?
Who carries in their heart the Om of those who seek to defend?
If he or she exists I long to listen!
For I doubt I’ll ever know.
There is no hunter of man, or beast,
There is no politician, currency hungry—that will feast
at all; but with a side of human sacrament.
Each day we’re left with less resolve
over metal and fire that revolve,
and then, knife and vice with guns conspire…
Don’t you see the uselessness of speech?
Don’t you see there’s crimson from beach to beach,
On every piece of Pangea that spread?
There they are, count the dead!
Or go ahead and hoard your power
One side or the other,
because in the end,
with one, Earth shattering, final breath,
it is in death,
that peace prevails.
She is perfect stillness, no tongues move.
There is no one that I’ve met that speaks from beyond the grave,
for walking dead are fan-fare fiction
with which you rot your brain.
They, the plethora of invisible unified spirit,
they cannot teach us, how to cure
complacency and self-destruction.
Yes, I see it, Magor-Misabib.
Gun control is
the global suicide mission.
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