Not a Son (Spew Version)

Rage is an instinct well kept
Passed down from mother, mother, father, father, mother and father to son, daughter, they, them, us

Rage is the surname of every living thing it blinds, it binds
Puts us together, spiraling together our DNA

Rage is telepathic and misanthropic
It can survive catastrophic events
Spreading its essence after all that's left is carelessly consumed and heaven kisses hell

Rage is fеlt from the moment you exit thе mother, be it your earthly one or the planet itself

Rage will outlive us all

Rage

Rage is too conscious to be self-conscious
Gods fuel their rage
They do it again, again, and again
Gods fuel their rage

You and me in a borrowed world
The reason for our anxiety, the tensions, the underlying impressions, the punctured lineage, misinterpretations, the low self-worth
That lines our gut in the borrowed world

The bloodshot sky, the smell of burning meat, the landslide
Charred trees running from house to house
Rummaging through last season's leaves for a carton of milk or sugar
On this night praying to your God
To explain why did they abandon us to fend and fuck and fight in this borrowed world

Testosterone will wipe us out while eating ice cream and meatloaf at Mar Lago
Do we matter at all in the end, do we really matter, or are we just matter, sitting here waiting to be split by Atoms Bomb?
Testosterone at its peak performance
My mom always screamed "Lilith should have married Eve"

Father, fuck your rage
Design-less, desire-less, pointless
Father, fuck your rage