We draw red lines in foreign sands with the blood soaked tips of blades still warm from the penetration of mangled bodies that once dreamt of peace through justified actions of war. Control, control, control, is the aim and death rides on remote. A bastardization of civilized thought. A nightmare of coagulated tumor joys, spitting venomous waves of self contorted friction jizz, while we bark the righteous claims of peace, peace, peace.
Posted on: Wed, 28 Aug 2013 01:27:09 +0000