idols

 
disjointed despair arcs then burn out
rage ever-present wearing a smile that cuts
I see your point dear mockingbird
shooting through my soul rebuke

I'm quite lucidly insane
leave me to my peace
I will give alms at your shrines
leaving little doubt your god is yourself
and all the people faint inside themselves

occult fiction drawing them in droves
becoming famous from the bones you picked
bodies rotted and already buried
a feast filthy enough even for you
drinking my pain you become drunk