Don't be so quick to slander the man who walks with his hands so that he can stand on the clouds. the white slave band around it's neck emanates an illusion of authority while it kisses the feet of the one so called saviour. the hand walking man steps towards oil stains of a lost childhood and carries the prints throughout a lifespan of -30 years. The very oil that the fully clothed maidens of saviour stained on the portal of a small girl. cruel intentions of least passed kept you from growing as you sit in a crib that is ten sizes to small? strip yourself bare and walk out to a world where ignorance of decadence is a folly. the world seeks your pleasures as much as you seek it's, and if we are to die this night, then we will walk on our hands and pass the faces that say otherwise. nakedness is a worship we could all bare, those who remain warm by cloth, not by each other, are forever bound by authority of a world forsaken and a drunkard filled with religious cries.
