You're growing weary in San JosenListening to the Diatribesnof an old an itching for a warnHis outrage was hard to ignorennThese old men are filled with fearnfilled by scribes and phariseesnthese things are sad to seenadopted daughter indoctrinatednignorancenand misguided mother with the burden of denialnnGod Knows they think they're gods x3nnThe fruit is lodging in their throatsnas they bear the pale mark of scornnits unfortunate they refuse to knownnThe obvious is I'm my mothers only sonnI'm far too sensitive to indulgenthe grave faces of denialnnI'm so serious you'd think I was in a gamenso I take comfort among the peonsnthe plight and struggles of the poornnGod knows they think they're gods x3nnWith their shallow hearts they choose to ignorenand reside in the very prison of denialnsupporting George's ambitious warsnlike the poor workaholic horsenof George Orwell's allegoric prosennn