Nothing

This world is dead
Interweaved in guilt
From these hands this snake was born

Interlaced by the blood spill
This serpent is the end of us
It breathes

Conscience long lost
A gypsum bust falling apart

Interlaced by the bloodshed
This serpent is the end
Construct
No reverse

War is always war. Never proud
Greed is always greed. Never proud

The plants and weeds rot as they erupt
From the sockets that once had my eyes

Now the snake breathes out
Death.
War.
Religion.
Blood.
Bloom.
Money.
Bronze.
Smoke.

A gypsum bust falling apart
The instincts is just an empty bowl

Ideal means nothing.