FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Glory be to thee my void


In credible

Homo est Machina

the-heartstrings-1960(1)

Glory be to thee my void
In every second of my days.
Let the gods be destroyed
And all their arcane, secret ways.

Ask for evidence and reasons,
Avoid all myths and fairytales.
Thus your soul and your horizons
Will spot the devil in details.

Allow your mind to notice
All those who live with psychosis.
These mystics, saints and little gods
Are nothing but charlatans and frauds.

Rouse your reason from its slumber.
Keep the gods away from you.
Every god is a human blunder
That hides away all that’s true.

Embrace the world devoid of meaning.
Purify your clouded senses.
Seeing never was believing,
nor was it keeping up pretenses.

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