Blame God from Strategically Confined by Blame God

Intake, expense, imperfect senses.
Abuse to find Christ, consume, and demented.
The wooden grinding mortar.

Wake up down with a sense of entitlement.
It consumes you.
Like clockwork.

As to discover an astounding fucking nothing.

Calling for division of heaven.
First class for all those suffering.
But I spoke to God last night and He said,
“You’re no victim”.

But you blame God
For your life of struggle.
Searching for answers meant just running in circles.
You cry for justice.
Staring at the day, gun in your mouth,
lifelong submission, but no sign of a keeper.
Well you’re mine now. So drop the act.
Bow to me, I’m your fucking master.

Draining blisters so things can start to make sense.
Come to realize that the insides are hollow.
An infection built in your existence -
no fault but your own.

Can’t keep running.
Your words own you.
Replacing conscious with a crown of thorns.

• Long Island
• Metal
• death metal
• grindcore
• hardcore
• powerviolence
• New York