"if someone shows you who they are, believe 'em"
Slackjaws don't run jackhammers, and those with souls untaught
don't change their fate. If you believe there's more to life than brawl
for bread, breed your kind, then curtains, its dire that you learn you're not
exempt from lower laws, nor will until your false gods fall.
Worshipping things with names and places is, wait for it... Sleep!
Our Greedy appetites unchecked, our vanities and big cheese pride;
these Ego ogres rule the roost, and we're like stupid sheep,
bumped along by trolls. Belief that inner viewpoints don't collide,
because we're sure there's only one of us, inside our head,
destroys our chance to separate from basement I's that feed
our Soul on lies. We fail to recognize we're being led
about by many hollow howls who want, but don't care if we bleed.
The proof that this is true, comes clear when you recall you said
you'd quit the smokes, or dump your squeeze, or booze, or candy bars
the night before, then woke up ravenous and felt instead
that crazy brain who went to bed, must have been from Mars!
All vices are the same and must be doused in Conscious Light,
if one intends to ever re-emerge a shining Soul.
Ancestral spawn, down through each Age of pain and tortured plight
have hardened up our avatar, to manage more control.
There is a destined end to this. A milk sow to a horde
of ugly I's, was never meant to be. That state of Soul is low.
Far down the scale of meaningful Being, and heading toward
a spiritless demise, our boy had best get right with what he owes.
He doesn't want to reappear across the mystic zone
from whence he came, without some measure of success.
If one's machine is drunk on vice, Divinity will stay unknown,
and outer life stay will stay the same, a god-damn forking mess.