Achaean News

Previous Article | Back to News Summary | Next Article
Poetry News Post #1166

A Mortal is more beautiful than a god

Written by: Mr. Lodi
Date: Friday, August 16th, 2002
Addressed to: Everyone


Frozen hearts bleed ice cold tears
Give birth to the angel
That'll cure all of your fears
If only more attention
Was lavished apon me
Then this lost situation
Might just have set me free

Stsicsaf era sdog eht


They try me

They like the high

When they inject me

They know they will die

But at least after me

They know they wont cry


So melt me down
And jack me up
You know my silent voice
Is the one no one loves

Stsicsaf era sdog eht

Gods will die and angels cry
When theirs no one left to love them
The queen bee is enslaved to her workers
Mortals pump blood into the gods
No one left to enslave,
No one left with whom to play
No essence left to power them, they
Tern into something less than us
But then again, the truth always was
That they lied to us from day one . . .

How do you know that they tell us the truth?

So melt me down
And pin me up
You know my silenced voice
Is the one you want to love

If there is a creator then there must be a destroyer
That alone shall be my God . . .


Penned by my hand on the 24th of Ero, in the year 313 AF.


Previous Article | Back to News Summary | Next Article
Previous | Summary | Next
Poetry News Post #1166

A Mortal is more beautiful than a god

Written by: Mr. Lodi
Date: Friday, August 16th, 2002
Addressed to: Everyone


Frozen hearts bleed ice cold tears
Give birth to the angel
That'll cure all of your fears
If only more attention
Was lavished apon me
Then this lost situation
Might just have set me free

Stsicsaf era sdog eht


They try me

They like the high

When they inject me

They know they will die

But at least after me

They know they wont cry


So melt me down
And jack me up
You know my silent voice
Is the one no one loves

Stsicsaf era sdog eht

Gods will die and angels cry
When theirs no one left to love them
The queen bee is enslaved to her workers
Mortals pump blood into the gods
No one left to enslave,
No one left with whom to play
No essence left to power them, they
Tern into something less than us
But then again, the truth always was
That they lied to us from day one . . .

How do you know that they tell us the truth?

So melt me down
And pin me up
You know my silenced voice
Is the one you want to love

If there is a creator then there must be a destroyer
That alone shall be my God . . .


Penned by my hand on the 24th of Ero, in the year 313 AF.


Previous | Summary | Next