Return of Oberoi - Scribe

Democracy who?

No one ever said I have choice or an option!

A possibility where my mind and its manifestations are relevant to how the

world turns.

The spittle it remembers the words you spit.

The spittle carries your truth with your soul in it.

Liar!

The spittle drips like the blood from the tips of your tongue as fate decides

to change as the coin flips.

Here is where we reverse the poles.

Here is where we protect the world from

harm.

Here is where we restore the balance!

Behold, the terrace, the turrets, the time and this tower.

I bear grave tidings, I’m afraid!

Freeze!

Now, allow me to speak without warning, without pain, unwittingly,

unequivocally of this miserable plight.

Indulge me, for I haven’t anything but a plague, a dishonorable plague trapped

in pleasantries.

Oh, the humanity!

The fire is rising.

The fire will rise to the skies and it will keep us warm in

our slumber!

This fire isn’t warming.

It’s slowly turning us into ash.

Deserving the burning, this person is turning.

Slowly turning us into ash.

Justice what?

No one ever said you have choice or an option!

A new reality where your life and its components are relevant to how the world

burns.

This acid won’t remember you!

Not never in the opus of your infuriating

presence.

This acid won’t carry your truth!

Not in buckets or barrels or vats the size of

oversized pachyderms!

This acid will drip like the blood of the sons of your mother as fate forgets

what it owes you.

This acid is in you!

This fire isn’t warming.

It’s slowly turning us into ash.

Deserving the burning, this person is turning.

Slowly turning us into ash.

Oh great being of light, are we what you seek?

Should we falter so we lose?

Must we fail to forget the lies that gave us this.

Our hearts have withered to nothingness.

Our faces have fallen away.

It’s turning, it’s turning, it’s turning us into,

it’s turning us into, it’s turning us into ash

It turns us to ash.