Your pinhole ideals institutionalize your brothers
“thank god for dead soldiers” pose for photos with your posters
The worst part of it is, your got these kids
Planting seeds in a garden of creepy narrow martyrs
A fourth grade student needs to learn about compassion, adding, and science
And not what you think is happening to these queers we got dying
We got bachelor’s degrees with fucked up rotting heads
Twenty five years old and still checking for monsters under the bed
WBC
Has got nothing on me
Your statue is fallen
And your god is rotten
You got cremated just like my aunts cats
And if there’s an end plane I don’t plan to be on that
Your life ended like there’s did all declawed and dusty
If I’m not going to heaven you’re sure as shit not getting past customs
Your beliefs were a building that once cast a shadow
They set fire to your body so your god wouldn’t have to
We killed the king let’s make meals of the pawns
Fred Phelps got burnt to shit, I’ll still find a grave to dance one
I’ll still find a grave
I’ll still find a way
