| way of the world the locus on lust it�s not horrid to abandon trust saturate with hate it will never abate engulf with rage until the end of this age cut with a knife at the end of life hang from a rope it�s called being without hope the flesh misleads not from above so emptiness seeds it�s supposed to be love real hope abounds in true love we�re drowned all like a flood was washed in His blood |