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Blood Smells

from Verbal Terrorist by Verbal Terrorist

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Blood Smells
Words of torture words of terror words meant to scare ya, there riding a pale horse, humanity’s taken off course. I can taste the stench of the corpse, swat team using brut force. Cutting of the life source, one nation under God, separation of church and state, what is there to debate? This democracy is fake, a republic at best. Totalitarianism next, it’s all apart of the east expanding mother fucking west. So all aboard the crazy train here’s your number act your age turn the page, the world’s a stage live in a cage take aim, we have only are self’s to blame. As your death approaching, here’s what there proposing, to be the one who’s chosen The blood smells likes roses, the blood smells like roses. Situations go from bad to worse, the body’s once place in a coffin and or Hurst. Are now just tossed in a ditch behind a church, where believing in a savior has become a fucking cruse. Nailed right in, forgiveness of mans sins Satan sits with a shit eating grin. Let this two sided bullshit begin. Cause this is where I have to set in, between. Like a referee on the day of reckoning. Immortal light or eternal darkness, roll out the red carpet, the pope the Vatican the target. I spits like a marksmen. Coming at the church of fucking Satan bend your own hatred. Deliver to the wise words in disguise. This two edge sword only applies to time, let it go. As your death approaching, here’s what there proposing, to be the one who’s chosen The blood smells likes roses, the blood smells like roses. I stand in between two pillars of darkness. Exhausted we’ve lost it, but did we ever have it? The right to choose, the right to lose, to light the fuse ignite the views, it starts at the pews. Don’t under estimate these fucking Jews. And don’t think for one minute there alone in it. Do you get the jest are you on the hit list? Remain swift on your feet on your toes. This bullshit grows like Pinocchio’s nose. Its cover in lies, surprise a word to the wise. Ignorance on the rise we’re fattened up like cattle. Up shit’s creek without a paddle the horse with no saddle, be ready for the final fucking battle. At this point it won’t even be a challenge. It’s just a part of there game your walking around with no brain. Point the finger who’s to blame? Stuck in the rain, put that shit in a fucking frame. As your death approaching, here’s what there proposing, to be the one who’s chosen The blood smells likes roses, the blood smells like roses.

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from Verbal Terrorist, released January 9, 2014

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Verbal Terrorist Denver, Colorado

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