Of Muses And Other Ghosts
Against God(s) (After Profanity)
With enough money we can touch the sky
and get across this damn ocean
before we grow old here, and
get used to growing old here,
like rats are used to grow old in sewers,
I told her one day.
It's my ambition to stop being a rat,
even if it means to be alone.
I'd still have the company of my heart,
I'd still love, I'd just be alone
with my flesh and my ordinary verses,
and you would remain the same,
a rat among millions of rats,
crawling through other's dirt, and
eating it, and thanking a god for it,
adoring him for giving you so much of it,
for putting you so close to his heart,
and crowding out to get even more of that dirt.
The world being so ugly, I myself challenge it.
I don't expect a god to do it for me.
I don't need flames to make me good,
so why do you need to be frightened by a beast?
Why do you need prizes for your humanly deeds?
It's too difficult for me to believe
in your god, in anyone's god,
as long as i'm covered in mud.
You don't like what i think, did I make you mad?
So put me on your naughty list.
It's not the vanity of my heart, but
rather the insanity of your believes (/believers,
chopping other's heads, stoning women to death)
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