Tear it from the cross, shake it to pieces, scream demon wind into its ears.
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I'm not getting an answer. How can you be so fucking real?
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Now I turn my back upon this crossbearer, the lesser to me of a figment.
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Never am I guided by its wisdom, gentleness, or kindess.
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Holy wars, killing in the name of god,
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the right to be minimalized under the rule of the unseen greatness.
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I cannot bow my head or kneel my figure to a fake symbol.
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And yet I dream and walk this earth in free thought for myself,
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proving my existence without this form of worship.
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So now let me spit upon the cross of your worship,
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or kill me in the name of God.
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I only understand its hate,
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the skin beneath a mask of shallow actions
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with a book of superstitions to live by, all living blind.
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-----------------
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Crossbearer
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Cave-In |