Decisions, decisions, decisions.

One way out,
nothing left to cry about.
Nothing there to see.

Hope we'll all go
while watching the proof
as it sprints off
to the glory of heaven.

Six and seven,
counting again
while we worship
the end of the testament.

Fallacy cried for help
but the microwave melted
his conscience. 
Broke all his vows,
he crawled into the back 
of the bus and it blew him up.

Sad moonlight tendencies
to conceive...
or notions confronted 
with doubt.