Phosphorescence1001

Rid me tradition, of your rituals routine glory,

In defence your expectance exempts me from independence,

Therefore tomorrow will be spent in defiant waste,

Uncertainly for I do repent, my farther and fore did make mistakes

And within the meantime in riots their children were betrayed!

Lamenting is the land its roots and all fruits from human toil,

Silver is the thread of tradition spun to warrant man his share of soil,

And affected are the sons of Adam whose blood must flow after it does boil.

Never does he fear the flash of lightening when it does fall and burn,

Determined by the reason for existence his self he exerts,

This display of pride separates him form his brothers side,

Riots persist the peoples party resists, against all of mans lies.

Anoint this war traditions cause and mans decline,

Disbelief or strong belief means nothing to the end of sin or crime,

Inevitably- for I am the seed my father in my mother did sow,

This defiance can never change what of myself I already know,

It is the weight of these airs and graces that I bear with shame,

On and on tradition is spun until better sons I am able to raise,

No, none the wiser am I, that to my boy I will explain,

Selfish desire of my heritage I wish for him to claim.