When speaking life from the pulpit of death
Becomes a denouncement of truth or it's dearth
I stop to wonder and ponder at the exile of truism
Away from the breathing axis of homosapiens
Or rather skeletal structures without life
What then is life without the truth?
What then is the truth without life?
Then, men are dead!
As the clock ticks in obedience to the racing time,
We live oblivious of theft of life from man
Not by ageing nor by the tragedy of denial of eternity
But by the consistent robbery of your conscience, o man
When lies become being merely "economical wit the truth"
Expect your doom o man
As the societus degenerates as at each birth
Infants are initiated into the death of the truth
Then we sit and watch and clap and sing
All is well
Another lie.
Man will die,
yes, man is dying
Slowly in the choking arms of the dearth of the truth
Intellect and wit fail to sustain the weakening
Guts of eternity, weakened on the altar of lies
When speaking from the pulpit of death, life itself dies.