Originally Posted by wanker
Remembrance of Things Past
I swarm deserted away, like glass...
Warm, and as fevers,
I am as flame.
I am death...
For I, I weave our blasphemies...
Wicthes painted me,
Like the mysteries created me...
Like where the poets breathe,
I were woven into blasphemies.
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The future teaches you to be alone
The present to be afraid and cold
So if I can shoot rabbits
Then I can shoot fascists
Bullets for your brain today
But we'll forget it all again
Monuments put from pen to paper
Turns me into a gutless wonder
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