Design the past like a finely pounded knife
Steel so sharp that it reflects only the fear in it’s suspecting victims
Design it with such fury that it can scare even that who wields it
Forget about the patience and peace
Forget about the delicate pieces of finely woven silk scarves
Master the brutish force of the devil and his raw red meat
Divide up the spoils of it’s destruction into finely placed paths
Chosen for their specific shape and moment of declaration
Point them onward, into their tomorrow that will never come
Their future that will only last mere moments longer
Allow them this one blazing glory
This one moment where they can feel free in their thought and speech
But never forget about their fate, never let them breathe too long
For in this mistake, this gravest of mistakes
It will then be your own fate to die in the eve of self destruction