Art of Insurgency
What a spectator I have become
Watching far off as evil sweeps the land
Like a sixth sense
I hear the mourning of the wind
Like frost in the gust of the north
Who I am resides in the sands of time
We all become mechanical to this conspiracy
Puppets to slaves of the elect
But what is intelligence but a tittle
Granted to the wealthy and easily appeased
Since of value is lost within the whirlpool
Brainwashed casualties in this mass genocide of living dead
How can joy be found in the mainstream
When the treasure is in the ocean
What once is a good idea and a strategy
Becomes a growing problem for too many
How soon will they all realize
That this cliche existence is falsified by the predecessors
That we are the scapegoats to the normal
And the martyrs to the underground
Into the deep is where joy stays
Into the deep is where I reside
By blue ocean
© 2012 blue ocean
(All rights reserved)
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