The Sophist

2014-03-12 12:00 am

Seek introspection elsewhere.
I'm here to burn my hands on incense smoke,
Telling God stories of my trysts,
Of all the times he missed.
To a world I doubt is there
I'm yelling my plans to an absent bloke,
telling God stories of my dick,
Of all the dames I dream it chokes.
Vocals crack on air,
The priest is watching alone.
I stare the beast in his eyes,
and keep yelling despite.
I draw a circle, a square,
Triangle, circle, and begin to invoke,
Two homunculi inside,
The smallest circle defined.
Behold, contrast and compare,
Presenting the Philosophers Stoned,
Their knowledge is blinded,
And wisdom unwound.
Priest still watching me stare,
I rub ash on my forehead and go,
To the front of the alter,
No foot dare to falter,
I scream and still nobody's there.