“Raise your hands up to the sky”…

a-dark-prairie-storm-c2a9-2011-christopher-martin

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Raise your hands…

Up to the sky…

Never ever question…

Never ask why…

Just follow the system…

Obey all the signs…

Listen to the preacher…

Walk forward blind…

Move like a Sheep…

In a field of Wolves…

Avoiding their teeth…

And horns of the Bulls…

That appear from nowhere…

From behind the trees…

It’s how “THEY” trick you…

And make you believe…

Keeping you walking…

Straight down the line…

Trick you into thinking…

That everything’s FINE

Whilst “THEY” steal your soul…

Sneak in the back door…

So you never notice…

Yet offer them more…

Not even realising…

On your hands and knees…

As you pray unto them…

So eager to please…

Offering to them…

Everything you own…

But “THEY” already own it…

It was a story you were told…

That talks about freedom…

As if it really exists…

This gift from the Gods…

The lie that persists…

But the truth is stranger…

Wrapped up in that lie…

As you will only be free…

On the day that you die…

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“Take me, back from the darkness where they sent me”…

paradise-lost

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In a dream within a dream…

Where nothing’s as it seems…

The angels watch and scream…

Then turn their back…

On what plays out before them…

The drama that unfolds…

In a way that blinds their eyes…

And leaves scorch marks on their souls…

A dream where no one can know…

Where cruel realities collide…

Where danger and demons hide…

And only the toughest survive…

An all out attack…

From out of the Black…

And from within the abyss…

Where a blink would miss…

And the winged queen may dismiss…

A plea from the heart…

That was doomed from the very start…

And begin where she ends…

Where lightning strikes and bends…

The strands of time…

And one by one, in a line…

The crawling sinner’s fucked up crime…

Is judged and condemned…

By a system that controls…

Owns all of the souls…

That weep and fly around…

Screaming, yet not making a sound…

Deep underneath the ground…

In this version of Hell…

Where voiceless demons tell…

And hopeless victims sell…

Themselves…

And all that they own…

In the hope that forgiveness is shown…

Within this dream that’s grown…

Into the next…

Leaving your head so vexed…

It’s all so fucking complex…

And so complicated…

The Devil should have waited…

Instead he fucking created…

The lost…

Left counting the cost…

In a winter field of frost…

With wires severely crossed…

In this dream within a dream…

Where nothing was what it seemed…

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Image – Gustav Dore: Lucifer Falling (Paradise Lost)