2010-06-02 - still death
to the pure all things are pure
how unsure the vain demure
bitter bondage with no cure
is the plight of the impure
painting life with their manure
stinking thinking like a sewer
gushing out from death within
comes the stench of wet vermin
rendering their evil spin
to anyone who's listenin
with a double standard chin
and an underhanded grin
every one's a slave to sin
everyone till born again
only death can cure the ills
of rebellious selfish wills
let them swallow their own pills
pride will fall but ignorance kills
love will conquer all such skills
or refine the hate in stills.
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