Like twisted baited worms, who's flesh is impaled with hard wire turnings.
I take the cold diseased  heart from rotted corpses and feed it into the mouths of bitches with engorged vagina  yearnings.

The reckless sanctimonious righteous evaporate from the earth and like an undetected steam burn the faces of those who are too blind to see.
Transcended evil scum swirl the paths of souls as they try to make their way deep into the psyche. 

Never a power to be, man trapped by his own arrogance, by his own greed, instead of infiltrating the cosmic mind of God, crushes his flesh, crushes his spirit.
Dare not be the one to hold the mirror, take sticks for script, land scribbles in the sand as to expose your soul for wretched redistribution.

Deity and piety hold tight like gravitational glue on every thought conceived by mortal man, In giant prisons they are locked for eternity and hold the secrets yet untold.
No man is great, who feeds on the flesh others, for essential nutrients flow and percolate into our mother.

There is a flesh that feeds the soul, it is impossible to find and therefore does not exist.
There is a thought, a spoken word, a transcribed verse that makes it so, but man will damn it all to hell.