They are free spirited, easy to kill, naiive and annoying as hell.
Little spiders that crawl from Hell, spinning their webs of self-loathing and digging sympathy wells.
In the end nothing is good or right, just convenient wielding might.
Smashing in their skulls, yet more spiders begin to crawl, giving birth before they spin a web at all.
Future events are in the balance, an arms race of competing violence, valor is lost behind media splendor.
Worthless bile rumbling as the bodies begin to pile, stealing little angels that have done nothing but be pure.
Is it truly a crime to release them from the confines of their spider like minds.
Creeping up your spine, a tingle of malice comes to mind.
Empty misguided hatred into the souls of the vibrant and youthful, creating a monster that is neither righteous or truthful.
Tossing to and fro, batting cob-webs here we go.
Spinning little widows, forgetting to consume their mate from the get-go.
Oh now, a requiem for a misunderstood soul, a requiem filled little tiny little screams, so petite they mean nothing.
Oh nothing is wrong or right, just might wielding a righteous kite.
Banner soaring high, get perspective before lightning strikes and forever changed in your life.
You will die and you need to know nothing will ever be alright.
Keep on giving into the scene, keep on trying to be something.
Please make this point for me, that you're annoying as hell, easy to kill and will always sell.
Little spiders feeding off the under belly and roaches, get a grip and choke on it.
Life is not for the taking but the creating, build something beautiful, spin a web and feast of something worthy.
A requiem for a requiem of tiny little screams, so petite they mean absolutely nothing.