The illness prolific, let the wordsmith begin
Haste with reservation, neither chi or Zen
Could create quite the conflict
All are not know and not seen
Eclipsed in the credit of creation
A murky at best running stream
Of these men who claim contact
By pointing their limbs to the sky
They were so special and chosen
To place all this fear in disguise of
Jesus Faux King Christ
A martyr symbolic to this very day
A scapegoat for most I am sorry to say
Hundreds of years, of serving up fire
Enough to manipulate, not to inspire
Jesus Faux King Christ!
Taxless and corporate in Gambino ways
A pleasant umbrella just do what he says
Our evolution proved, that all else is fraud
The Sun and the Moon is what I call God
The madness horrific, let your wordplay end
You've got no reservation, all just earth on the mend
That's what creates your little conflict
Your ticket to ride has expired
Your owed no credit for creation, just blame for the shame you've conspired
To be all these men who have contact
You point all your hopes to the sky You are not special or chosen
Just fear in disguise of Jesus Faux King Christ!
