"Blessed are those who write their own scriptures, for they shall be kings of the new world." Since the dawn of civilization the so-called men of god have been lost in their obscurities their words lead to sorrow commanding the weak to follow a desing for tyrants to control and enslave we subdue not the voices inside us we only bow down on our prey fire rains down from the heavens pouring down on those too weak to learn on the ruins of the dead religion standing tall as the enslavin doctrines burn "Blindly the sheep to their doom, for their leader came not to bring peace, but a sword." to lead the flock astray each cult began their game they created the face of evil and gave it a name we take their game and squeeze it until it brakes in shards and under the remains the truth will survive we are the child who questions sincerely and in our eyes a mirror framed