The Hatchet in Innocence
The destruction of Innocence claws at the seams of the world.
Yet, we simply walk by with our heads down,
We acknowledge the evil- but merely slap the wrist,
Leaving those afflicted broken and gnarled.
What are these seeds we have sown?
Our complacency has lead us to coexist,
With an evil that we choose to forget.
The evil we overlook- pretend does not exist- is the hatchet,
Lodged in the back of Innocence.
Daughters are taught that love equals lust;
We fail to see the open casket;
Our hearts feed into the wickedness.
If hell is on fire, we are about to combust-
As we succumb to the bleeding in our hearts.
We are the plague Innocence fears-
The swift hand acting as the creator.
Wicked men are truly monsters,
And we are the men who are nearly there.
Running to our cursed ends,
As the bumbling hypocrites that we are-
Pretending that we are not wretches,
Laughing till the very end.
If it were not for His grace,
I would suffer the bitter end of a monster,
Whilst wearing the mask of a saint.
I was the plague- the bane of Innocence.
I was the one who swung the hatchet.
Yet I am welcomed as He rises.
The destruction of Innocence claws at the seams of the world.
Yet, we simply walk by with our heads down,
We acknowledge the evil- but merely slap the wrist,
Leaving those afflicted broken and gnarled.
What are these seeds we have sown?
Our complacency has lead us to coexist,
With an evil that we choose to forget.
The evil we overlook- pretend does not exist- is the hatchet,
Lodged in the back of Innocence.
Daughters are taught that love equals lust;
We fail to see the open casket;
Our hearts feed into the wickedness.
If hell is on fire, we are about to combust-
As we succumb to the bleeding in our hearts.
We are the plague Innocence fears-
The swift hand acting as the creator.
Wicked men are truly monsters,
And we are the men who are nearly there.
Running to our cursed ends,
As the bumbling hypocrites that we are-
Pretending that we are not wretches,
Laughing till the very end.
If it were not for His grace,
I would suffer the bitter end of a monster,
Whilst wearing the mask of a saint.
I was the plague- the bane of Innocence.
I was the one who swung the hatchet.
Yet I am welcomed as He rises.