None would looks me in the eye,
So I laid myself before the road
Staring up at the sky turning red--what a Communist it is!
The priests present their offerings and leave them to rot at the alters
All mankind forget and I expect nothing less
In the street the cruel, warm asphalt ingraining into my back,
But still I cannot tune out
Leave me to my methods!
Have your voice taunt me no longer!
Forsaken men and their insolent howls bring upon the Rapture!
Iconoclasts, heathens, drunkards, and grubbers raise a glass to toast to success
But no part do I want, at least be no longer.
No holy book do I possess, no Scripture nor faith in Man, God, or Self
I will retire to my gravely chambers, no company will I keep.
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