I’ve still got spots, to bury humans still,
I’m hungry, I haven’t eaten my fill,
For his belief, for her belief,
Loud are heavens shrills.
Huh, no spots up there,
Worry not, in the end,
I’ll send humanity,
The murder bill.
But until then
I’m Landfill
Kill, Kill,
Kill.
-W.E.
There is nothing to celebrate.
Despite the beauty, despite the wonders it contains,
The murder of a single soul is enough to soil it,
The soil, to swallow it, pun intended.
What has become of us,
Fighting strong to celebrate a day,
But curled up in foetal positions,
To fight the murderers.
Grand woodstocks we can have,
Grand Booms,
Grand earth days synchronised,
With cannabis filled air
With mud in our hair,
Without worry or care,
Forgetting the murderers that walk freely out there.
We have no earth as long as a single soul dies at the hands of another soul.
Because apparently it was earth day.
There’s nothing to celebrate.
Plenty of hell-holes to commiserate.
Humanity has reached preposterous states.
-W.E.
“……Whoso slays a soul not to retaliate for a soul slain, nor for corruption done in the land, shall be as if he had slain mankind altogether; and whoso gives life to a soul, shall be as if he ha given life to mankind altogether. Our Messengers have already come to them with the clear signs; then many of them thereafter commit excesses in the earth.” Quran 5:32
lonerloaner 