No Strings attached but a crippled man with his crippled desire tried to fly
With his withered will in “I”, simply seeking with the eclipsed sun blinking
So he stares into the air until the clouds disperse, creeping
And he stares until it all makes sense or slowly passes by him
His own asylum, with paradigms turned to pantomimes
He sits on top of halo’s on top of rainbows and waits for heaven signs
Himself divine.
Paradise is lost and hard to find, he feels confined
Prisoner of his own convictions
Slaying 7 demons on a somber Sunday with his fellow Christians
But he fails to mention, lucky 7, 7 sins persuades his victims
And lust after his holy vixen … he’s finished
Jesus, cleanse his sins … embedded in his palms
Relax your wrongs, hindsight impaired when judgment is gone
When faith is withdrawn evil gets strong
Conquer the weak until your bloody sky remains calm
Firebomb
Huddle with the masses trying to kill the messenger that passes
His practice through the ashes, muscling the muses questions captious
Into the blackness of who’s hand perpetuates this axis
Or when it crashes
All that exist will be a chalice surrounded by the paparazzi
So God avoid the flashes … you gotta avoid the flashes
No Strings
The exploitation of what we believe in