Your filthy hands,

They're grabbing my lungs.

Like a drink of Bacardi,

Your lies have left me hung.

What is it that you want?

A palace of heaven?

The title of God?

Eternal blessings?

Somewhere in your history,

Your mind refused to stretch its world.

And honestly, it makes me hurl.

Why?

Because you throw your remains on me,

And believe that I will handle your sickness.

But your sins are yours alone,

And will leave you prone.

As you walk this earth...

Tell me something on your journey.

What do you like about the cerulean sky?

Does it touch your face like a spark of hope?

Does it bring a sigh of relief like a dangling rope?

Does it save you from your eternal slope?

Or does it help you cope?

All of these I hope.

But please remember,

Your sticky darkness will only create a missing future.

As long as your lust for the control of others exist,

You will be just another misfortunate on the devil's list.