A Mad House

In a world of madness aboard the infected ship Prometheus Lost in me. The Devil my captain, the crew singing Hells Bells can be heard over the rumble of Holy Cannon Fire. My body sucks to me with minimal oath but I keep on in the nightmare with no limits, black sheep follow me to funerals held in a void. I find the Lady Madonna raising Cane and chasing the Dragon, worshiped by maniacs of corruption whom build a League of darkness. It's difficult to escape being shellshocked or controlling yourself from hitting the ceiling. You become an epic cracked black hole that you must rescue yourself from. The panic and pain from discovering that you are a lost artifact causes some to Tranquilize themselves in this hallucination. Others fear the head dystopian clerics death for them no relief. Still crazy, drugged and a dirty brother of matter, I have broken the audio mental distraction and figured out the butterfly effect in their tonic. The worst pain is remembering before the nightmare, watching as they would teach the citizens to duck and cover, filling their heads with Apocalypto visions and the fear of an ever coming ghost ship carrying doom to their way of life. Absent of the analog I and stripped of reason they follow the voice from the mountain promising candy in death humility in life and a drop in the pressures of life just for following the path of the illusion of salvation. I see in their eyes cynical, endless, dark denaturalization to kill humanity as we know it. A Planetary assault on the perfect system you, unleashing chronic depression they make you hate yourself, they make you fear and hate perfect strangers in their jungle of chaos. A ventricular virus obliterating our hearts and minds, we know from ancient history that this empire would try to rise again fighting it since we crawled from the cradle of life, without you this sad symphony which is infecting the future will go on, ask yourself with everything so clear why do you sit in dark corners and shake your head holding your breath? You cannot speak a tune of silence, soon there will only be guns for hire in hades, stop worshiping at the altar of uncertainty we are fading away to a total loss, they are hacking our minds, the King is dead. We are becoming inhuman and mentally unstable, creepers and crawlers. So while you slave in the fields and haunted factories singing this is the way, captive and paralytic of mind eating more, so confused and out of time, Internalize remaining anonymous from life, a lunatic shadow in the night. To leave this place you must murder the ignorance.