As twisted and spiraling the stains in our lungs become
Its safe to find the culprit to be our lackluster tongues,
And though no one sees it no one is innocent
Our pretentious bodies aflame in magnificence.

Prancing and leaping and screaming with joy, 
The sinners we find them desecrating life
In the softest knowledge that there is no God,
And ergo should not take the burden of religious strife.
So they attempt to make the most of the never ending cycle,
By filling the void with madness and exertion.
Of course then if there is a lord,
Their souls will carry the burden...

As as these demented fly through their weeping sleep,
The others take stand and form a safe plan,
In the eyes of a God they seek...

Now its not fair to say what they see is the wrong way and
I'm all in for fair play so rejoice-
However if there is no lord and they die by their own sword
their life is left a little stain on the earth-
self harming in the worst sense and demented in their
residence of a heaven on which we have no proof-
But alas we all wretch and grab hold of a sketch someones
made to help us live our lives-

As desperate and rusted the stains on our lungs become
Its safe to find the culprit my dissenting tongue,
And though no one sees it I'm far from innocent,
My poetic diversion just for thoughts of dissent.