Crawling to the depths of passions,
Worming their way from the surface,
Their hypocrisy never fails
To mark the ground with bullet holes.
Shooting the corpses hiding
At the safety of their coffins,
At the death of anonymity,
Just to be alive
When the lamentation sounds like
Shouts from devils
Your heaven fight back
With all its righteous judgment
It must feel so good
Being at the clouds
Too far from reach
Of broken babel towers
But why should we
For all your purity
Be torn away
From the light?
Perhaps we should just
Take our wings
Made out of human wax
And fly too close to the sun
Hoping the tale isn’t true
That I can escape
I can dream
Without falling to the ground
