The Igigi

[the Draç]

Untold thoughts, our reign runs deeply.

Rooted in demand, the demand was pure sickly.

True to our word, our hearts ache with pain.

Humans try to converse, they then put to shame.

All for fame, my soul burns slow.

Telling a fine women that I got to go.

Be true to His will, the fate is exact.

Having to go back, to cut the worthless slack.

Laid up in a shack, for deep down facts.

Having to stack, in a hole like trap.

Unbeknownst to them, they then ended up in the Sun.

Amputate our word, we break it down to dumb.

Having to teach a child to suck her thumb.

Even if you knew, you'd write to a false god.

In which your God, becomes a facade.