Crossed Out

snoozers losers, wakers takers. this time around, i'm the faker. finders keepers, losers weepers. this time around, you're the reaper. seventeen years under the curse, but i'm out of this hearse. and the best thing, or should i say the worst: you're still immersed. keep your knees bent, keep your head down. plug your ears so you can't hear the sound. that prison is where the answers are found — just don't look around. after all these years, still playing on the same old fears. i'd ask them, "where's your shame?" but i know how good they are at this game. seems i can only swing and miss so i will just leave it at this: fuck religion.