Moor

A moor of lies.

Love, drowned -

Now floats on it.

Bloated now with lies,

It will never reincarnate.

No Jesus, this, i say!

To come alive the third day.

Murdered coincidences,

Scapegoats for the falsehood.

Fibs turning grey

And gaining experience.

Now are LIES - A whirlpool of 'em.

Dragging into nowhere.

Several teeth of this cog,

Now are worn out.

One who knows the truth,

Is called the enlightened.

Who, may I ask, is - ENLIGHTENED?

Who pretends to be a know-all?

Who sits under the Bodhi?

Who smiles even when seeing the vices?

Designed it to be this way-

Funny does God.

Moors he builds -

Peaty soil covered with heather

And bracken and moss

To make us believe it is strong soil,

And to make us set our foot.

Funny doth God.

{Funnier doth people - retarded}