The Preacher's Son
Twenty years,
The father’s reign
A tool of God,
He cannot gain
The strength for war,
Or heart for love,
So silently he hides the dove
A preacher’s son,
A soul so safe
Hidden from life
Inside his faith
His winter scar;
A line of blood
A rush of faith
A mental flood
Of gods and demons
Fighting war,
Of church filled boys
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poem by Jack Cropes
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The Manson Family Values
Jesus Manson was a leader
A real keeper of the kind which went waste
And then they got him,
Now they have him,
Who will lead us?
For there is no one worth taking Charlie’s place
This is the hour,
When the family shows its power
To all who question our defense and our belief
For we’re empowered not to cower
But to flower
Simply as misfits joined with losers left to thief
In our traditions,
There is value
And importance
For it is vital to the way the outfit fits
And every value holds a meaning worth exploring
From which these values, a true Manson ever splits
poem by Jack Cropes
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Entrails of Agony
Anguish is seen, heard, felt through repentant wicker
To relieve the strain of deteriorating courtesies which flaunt pleasure
In the eyes of bestial man in raw shells,
Left unattended by the inhumanity of her acing memory
Lost in a flame of ignorant chatter
To drive the brain into silent chaotic warfare
Feed this disease, My love
Then maybe these ripping entrails will emanate the stench of decaying repression,
And once again harbor the rotting agony of perversion,
Steaming to a boil in the remnants of loss and wonderment
To mislead us all into the grips of Her putrefaction....
poem by Jack Cropes
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Sit in the Darkness
Kill off the brood,
A parasitic maniac
With blood for its food
A fearful necropheliac
Sit in the dark
A message written in the sand
Suffer the bark
Of the dog that sits in dark Siam
She is his way,
A light so bright you cannot see
He is her clay
A mold of inner thought debris
Stand in her light,
His eyes now frozen, try to bleed
Suffer the bite
Of the maggot grown inside her seed
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poem by Jack Cropes
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Sexual Deviance In the House Of Abstinence
Lamenting her malpractice,
Deep within hollow shadows which leave her weeping,
A sensational desire,
Thirsting for brass staves and iron chains to unbind
Searching to find,
A hunger to see,
A blasphemous path to her deviant wishes
Nurturing beastial fetishes,
Unevovled lusts which her own malice has dared to invoke,
So proudly on knees, bleeding, bruising, begging
For deliverance from this repression, this burdening resentment...
To revel in the fruits of her hungering orgasms,
Free and proud,
Unbound without the hint of restriant,
Screaming the name of Abomination
Chanting the spell of infernal charm and pleasure....
poem by Jack Cropes
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Mourning the Goddess of Shadows
Thee i worship... Oh goddess of midnight..
Nocturnal kiss of a rejected vanity,
Maleficent queen of chaos,
Now a ruthless dictator of a sickening nature,
Displays of a sadistic romance, a veiled retribution,
With the aching calls of inhuman flames reflecting the horrid error of our lusts,
A denied attempt at the throne, an empty, envious glance at what you evoked,
Through carnivorous loins, sweetly coated in the bitter sugar of a hungering guilt,
Washed violently in the whorish filth,
Painfully scraped into a repressing state of submission,
The seed calls out to his forsaken gorgon mother,
To once again breed the soil from whence he came....
poem by Jack Cropes
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In the Embrace of Death and Eternal Damnation
Under the full moon they cry,
Vultures of darkness,
Ravens of the blackest night,
Trampling scavengers scourge the path,
There shall be NO inhibition,
This has evolved into the death of restraint,
Kneel before my alter
Worship these methods fed to you by the lord of nokturnal silence
The descent only grows in potency,
Abysmal monstrosities unchain from their seats of power
To inflict retribution upon mortal inaccuracies
Wiped clean from the face of my dominion
Suffer the jaws of polluted inhumanity,
Impaled upon the horns of Hell,
Man only grows to embrace his beast,
Possessing himself to indulge
Kill it all down with the taste of 'Luciferian Absinthe'
As we are our own addiction
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poem by Jack Cropes
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The Pinching of Metal and the Deteriorating Immunity
This is what you suffered to fear,
The naked face of immoral reality weeding out your social dogmas,
Subliminally excreting intoxicated doctrines to rape your diluted state of being,
Polluted emotion has left me craving blood and sex,
Raw, impure, adulterated beast
Stewing morbidly under the skin
Oh how the prostituted mentalities of rodents screech in muted overtones,
God's pussified drones of a sickening nature,
I have grown to love the hatred of man's undisputed carnality
And the cold detachments of their wrathful grudges,
I am my own saviour,
Impersonal emptiness,
Hollow husk of what you consider a human man
Walking, killing, breeding,
Within the walls of immunity
As the bones of infant leeches drive me to be impaled,
The noise fades
As the vibration increases...
poem by Jack Cropes
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Pray To Satan
I will embrace this cold cruelty of a sensation
Defined as utter deliverance through undefiled perception,
To allow my bloodstream its allotted pacification,
In pleasurable asphyxiation,
Satan hath claimed our beloved insecurity
Pariahs unleashed,
Infernal acceptance of divinated intent,
Incompetence I will squander
In our age of glorified flesh,
This spirit is slave to Helvete,
And thus lust hath prevailed,
Running rampant through black veins
Orgasmic torture within the bowels of the subconscious,
And the eyeless squalor shall be washed away
Until the very bowels of history bury this martyred filth forevermore,
Consecrating the name of Satan through stone,
Proclaiming darkness through ageless decree,
I will propagate the ending
Until time herself begs for the horns of her creator...
AVE SATANAS
poem by Jack Cropes
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The Luciferian Manifesto
Upon the illuminated throne of a utopia so rejected,
Wings of deliverance relieve the self infected,
Within these energies the wise will bestow creation,
At last laying to rest all hint of pretentious temptation
As the feeble kneel and claim their demise,
They inhibit the soul as they pray towards the sky,
Thrown to flames of the sun, they burn yet don't die,
Content in the torments of a 'god' in disguise
Self denied pleasures of a vibrational discourse,
Have now rebuked the titles which one's own flesh has enforced,
For the hand not yet worthy drives its lord to perdition
Left to endure this inhumanity which has claimed all intuition
Yet freedom from this repression lies behind gates of light,
Attainable answers which dance plainly in sight,
For the keys which are needed are often neglected,
Yet through nurtured perception are self manifested
poem by Jack Cropes
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