Death Books
2007-05-14 - 10:51 p.m.

before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

death books


Why do you kill?

Because a book told you to?

It rules your night and day,

this tool of oppression of the mind,

this piece of paper and ink.

These words,

mutilated and rank,

foul from the perverse pleasures,

of the few who would control us,

have us fight and scrap with each other,

so they may reap the harvest of our sorrow.


Who do you kill?

is it the father, brother, mother, sister

daughter of all our souls?

Did your theologian tell you that your reward was elsewhere,

a place of glory you feel unjustly denied?

They're whispering lies,

tantamount to terror and treason,

of the human,

of the heart and soul of mankind,

that your ego, your depressed dignity,

was too eager to swallow,

as we wallow in the tide of filth,

with which they wash,

the refuse of the silt of the bathwater

of their dirty minds,

which reek of the hate,

the disease of greed,

the lust for power,

for which they pit us against ourselves,

knowing full well the power rests with us,

with you,

to decide for yourself,

for your own mind,

for your family, your heart and soul,

and it is from this that they are

deathly afraid.

They censor us speaking

talking, knowing, and loving each other,

because this love will be our coup,

our revolution,

thowing off the shackles of their illusion,

seeing the side-show of fear,

for what it is, once and for all,

a cheap hustle, �

a sucker's bet,

that keeps us at each other's throats,

our minds enslaved,

by their illusory rhetoric,

and retains them in power,

until we can love each other,

unafraid.