The Flood

In a world bruised black and blue,
The faintest red shows through.
Tiny drops of human blood,
Hinting at a secret flood.

Those stone cold eyes, they mesmerize.
So deep inside, so dead-alive.
I turn my head, begin to pray.
Make the madness fade away.

We’ll gather at the church,
And lock ourselves inside.
Drink the magic kool-aid,
And praise mass suicide.

The flood begins at half past eight,
the politicians far too late.
Wash your hands of all your sin,
watch the chaos from within.

The secret cult goes through the gate,
turmoil mixed with burning hate.
Visibly perfect, bones unbroken,
decaying minds of truths unspoken.

The four white walls of eternity,
glowing, staring back at me.
Closing in on secrets, lies,
meet at the center of my demise.

Elation fades to dark and dreary,
dismal trails of weak and weary.
Suffocation sinks below the ground,
asphyxiated bodies will be found.

Depressing sounds of halted motion,
sickly sights of an empty ocean.
Painful songs of innocence gone
chilling thoughts of faded dawn.

Gasping for one last breathe,
heavy air that reeks of death.
Imagination buried below,
heartless grounds covered in snow.

Winter comes out from his cage,
Floods create the new ice age.
Waters freeze above my head,
resounding sounds of what they said.