Fantasybound (The Heretic Truth)


Who was the greatest poet
in skills and power,
the greatest of all?

Who made all his companions,
all the other people fall
into the greatest fraud of our time,
of all the times ever been,
of all the times ever to become?

Who wrote his imagination
into a form of a book,
a book that has held us
in its mighty grasp
for more than two thousand years?

Where is the grave
of this dispiseable creature,
where were his remains once laid?

For I shall crawl into the ground
in that worm-eaten spot
and feast with the mould
that his limbs have once turned into

I shall try and revenge
to this loathsome insect,
who has written our history
to a woeful series of misfortune,
who has made me live
the way his mind once invented

Maybe by then I'll have my peace
Maybe by then they'll let me sleep