Conditions

I prefer false paradigms
Over my all nostalgic thoughts
I vouch for heinous crimes
For the world is destined to rot

The promises that I made
I made them to those
Who believed in my words 
Ones who thought I had cause

How could I be the vessel
When I'm the one most cursed
My phrases are almost satanic 
The way the words are versed

I'd been a hopeful man
I believed in God's grace
But alas! My deeds are vanished
While all my dark stays

The baggage will remain 
For mystic is a mockery 
The silence now prevails
And ceaseless wait for decree

But I'll plea conditions
That barred me from myself 
And right to remain silent 
Well! The dead can't ever tell

My pin point perfection 
Measured hell too small
I prefer false paradigms 
For I'm made to take the fall.