Little old me just stepped into the vicinity.

No, I am not welcome.
No one wants to be my friend.
You all want me dead.
On a manic tirade again.
This is the end.
The daimone awakens again.

I am a god.
Where is my damn massage?
Bring me my damn croissant.
Lift up your arms,
sing of me in your songs.

I walked into a church to rant.
Clones wearing clothes from other clones.
Ugly polos, misogynistic dresses.
No more confessions, only violence.

I walked into a church
and said fuck you to him and her.
I'd say fuck you to your face if I could.
For thinking I'm another man weeded from the same bush.
Holy worship, manic tirades.

I'm the bad guy?

You control my people.
Paint them in white because only white is light.
Black is evil, shades of it invoke the devil.
No variety, just faith-based frugality.
You preach of an all‐loving.
While stuffing your fat fucking face with mcmuffins.

Where are my children?
Still in the alter booth, getting the boot.
Forgiveness around here is a synonym for abuse.
You'd go to hell for using a noose!

I'm cruel.
I'm the monster.
If I'm the devil so be it.
At least my people will finally prosper.
Instead of remaining cotton pickers.
The white man's religion.

© DolorTheDaimone