1 Media. 1 Church. 1 World. 1 Voice to Topple Dystopia.

Deceiving in store, interfering lore and clearing the wars we're never hearing of anymore. Yet so near indeed like bad luck feeding ya' in each sweating pore. Fuck those media medicine whores! I never needed your leavings to beseed sore demons.

Pleasing meager peons through an open door abattoir. From notion scoping to hopeful oceans from shore to shore I’m going on. Flowing strong and provoking at core, reaching eons of gore, beseeching each cleaving leaves more spotty rotten bodies peed on!

Satan took a naughty vacation said lead son! See me when you're done. Free to bomb undone, getting wrong under the gun, implored with a sculpted inspection of multiple dimensions. Gulp and pull and torn like the culpable level of tragic devil's magic in the bereaved tongue release tip, threatening slip, weapon of a lisp from Exorcist!

No faking Satan reborn in pieces reckoning a fretful fling shedding birth! But no shotgun wedding could handle the vice of the Anti-Christ. So a regretful thing born to stray the course… springs forth and brings the war! I’m set to pull strings to appease the mania with means through media to explain, edu-tain, retrain all who seek to unloose the truth!

I’m choosing to cut through the exasperation and blues of obfuscation's noose. Unwinding my divine mind never took a vacation better to pay my dues. Finding what muttering shutterbugs covered up too.

Distinct riffs so tense, instinct makes a difference, on the brink of clearing interference! I’m forever uttering my blues, clever rudder steers through an ocean of emotion to send an explosion in a silly roll… to The Original Giver of Means…      like Billy Joel’s River of Dreams! Never stuttering when unglued, but fluttering between chaos that won't lay off of me and grounding to a sound so true.

I'm coming undone running a newfound underground ghost-town like a fun rubdown to a nun in a rundown nightgown! Every verse I scrounged from the first round excites blacklights to pound, disperse slack and spite all around!

A burst to astound my spree pours and rigs my will… like a pound of C4 beneath fresh-poured pig swill!

Still dropping backrhyme reversals with no rehearsal, unlimited subliminal riddles ground fast like sand from glass, blasted back to beriddle my sound! Like explosive bocci balls found loaded, handled like votive candles with murder as motive by Pagliacci the clown…

…in yatzee falls, blood and hair spots on the walls. Dice roll when nights flow and vice shows. Writhing onward, fighting my click-respond-whirr. I’m getting ahead of fools like Deadpool slicing the Beyonder, dividing to conquer. Tithing ganja for sure because Mother Mary wants to blur, wary, on it, impure like marijuana's cure.

Like a perpetual perp hurt as an intellectual baby squirt! I grew and turned to an eventual murky retro-death-grow-vert! From nursery poke without mercy I awoke in every choke! Between this world or me is no joke. Every terse stroke I'm cursed to invoke worse with every toke. Earth first spoke when I was birthed in lava squirts. But the universe grew alert when Gaia sighed from deep inside and burped from the frightened Hell of a Titan's cell. The right sight unwell, growing mound exploding with dirt-brown sound, a curt and down home manimal berserk like a cannibal dessert spellbound hellhound!

No escape inside a blatant sigh for hero worship, but Nero Wolf slipped when superheroes stormed heaven! Getting even with treasonous unreason. Omnipotence ignoring NON-FICTION morals and mortals pleading. God pulled a switch like a little bitch! Called away on business, lulled into picturing he was above it, but finally culled for sleeping on shift…  Mobbed and strafed absolved said God was unsafe from me: the FIRST Captain Mutiny!

Saint Peter: Gasp! Captain in the sky above! It happens and humans die: the kind you never tried to love. Loki of Literati was on in the first shot! He got me… and unloosed Lucifer from his pen… the lucid cunning linguist twins are gabbing through zen, at it unspent… brains addled again. Loki sliced low to high, knees to thighs, so you’d see the letters distressed, extended from pen to quick-stitch across my chest. Accosted and put in check in 5 minutes or less, from my dying breath he warns that you’re next! Good luck, Deus and PROTECT YOUR FUCKING NECK!