Life is silent and dodges death in a minefield, you arrive in Europe and they sharpen laws like a

guillotine.

And no, there is no forgiveness from God, no prayer for such horror and vengeance. The bells of
hell toll for the dead.

The hysteria of history transforming your memory is a cursed déjà vu, another chapter without
glory. Leaving your skin raw, infected wound, a dynamic chronicle that never heals.

That's the irony of the struggle for peace where evil and goodness are dystopia and utopia. An
uncertain nightmare with no visible end, the fatal rhythm of the drum of life sounds.

Clean your guns, justify your offenses. It's the ministry of satanic offerings. The golden calf ceased
to be valuable for its image, today it's just a promissory note.

An economic tax imposed on the public, pleading for mercy from a messiah who ignored them.
Your god is unknown even to his own clergy, agnostic hitmen unknowingly of their confession.

Life is silent and dodges death in a minefield, you arrive in Europe and they sharpen laws like a
guillotine. And no, there is no forgiveness from God, no prayer for such horror and vengeance. The
bells of hell toll for the dead.