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| A House Built on Corpses - When Does It Fall? | Started by: Purged_By_SpikeS on Feb 03, '25 15:48 |
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Another purge, another grave, More power hoarded, more lives erased. They kill the unknown, they kill what they fear, They kill their own men just to keep the throne clear. Gio, Jin-Sakai, N-13—names in the dirt, Executed, no trial, just whispers and hurt. Their leaders just nod, no witness, no fight, Too scared to admit what we all see in sight. They suck on the teet, think they’re in charge, But it’s a facade, just another pawn at large. They pick who’s next, who plays the game, And you will fall, just like Leo—same. Leo’s right hand tried to break free, Tried to overthrow, but the power’s too deep. He failed in the end, just another man, His rogue move crushed, his rebellion gone. You think you’re in power, that you’ll get a say, But they choose who stays, and who fades away. The house they’ve built, with lies and with blood, Is a fortress of bones, stacked deep in the mud. But what happens when the blood dries up, When the teet is sucked and the well runs dry? When the money’s gone, and the bankroll’s thin, And the ones pulling strings can’t afford to win? When the power’s bought with blood and with bribes, But the coffers are empty, and loyalty dies? Who’ll keep stacking the corpses when the cash can’t flow, When the lies they peddle can no longer grow? What then, when the cash cow’s dried up, And the teet you suckle from is empty as a cup? No money, no power, no game to play, Who’ll be your pawns when the people walk away? Striphe thought he was clever, playing his game, Cheating and scheming, thinking he’d slip on by. But one false move, and the Gods took their call, Executed for cheating, just a fall. Now he’s just a name, a memory lost, A casualty of the game, paying the cost. And remember Space-to-the-pole’s ancestor, who once had a say, Tried to go against the regime, but got purged the same way. Had to bend the knee, kiss the ring, play nice, Now they live on a leash, forever in SpikeS' slice. So what’s the plan? Keep stacking the dirt, Keep playing the game while the people get hurt? You’ll run out of souls, you’ll run out of coin, And the empire you built will start to disjoin. You’ve stacked your house on the bones of the dead, But one day, the foundation will crack and spread. Keep purging, keep grasping, keep making your moves, But when the money dries up—who’s left to lose? The house is built on corpses, stacked high to the sky, But the more you climb, the further you’ll fall—don’t ask why. When the streets grow silent, and the masses turn away, The house you’ve built will crumble and decay. So what happens then, when you’re left all alone? When the game is over, and there’s no one to own? Keep stacking the corpses, keep playing the game, But eventually, you’ll have no one to blame. |
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| Yes. Yes. So real. So raw. Like a modern Rubberlips. There isn't a mafia artist out there producing more vital work. | |
| Reply by: BuckBurgerhouse at Feb 03, '25 16:15 | |
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Are bullet points an option? |
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| Reply by: TheD at Feb 03, '25 16:17 | |
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I commend you on your work. It's top tier. I hope we can get someone to sign you on. You have a real talent. Maybe you can start a band? |
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| Reply by: Space-to-the-pole at Feb 03, '25 17:48 | |
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A sponsor, huh? With a big wad of cash? Upfront, of course—none of that stash. But let’s make it clear, let’s set the tone, Not a single cent from Sleepy Joe’s throne. If you’re serious, let’s make a stand, But only those worthy can join the band. One requirement, simple, no spin— Every member must have a purple bin. So what’s it gonna be, spacey? You making a move? Or just playing along, stuck in as allowed non threatening groove? |
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| Reply by: Purged_By_SpikeS at Feb 03, '25 18:21 | |
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Purple bin you say? |
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| Reply by: Space-to-the-pole at Feb 03, '25 18:59 | |
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Don't be a heathen, TheD. This is art, imprinted on your psyche. Don't boot it aside. Listen to the natural hyphenated majesty of the bars, laced together completely 100% organically and delivered tongue and groove to us all, free of charge. Admittedly, Space-Pole's tear-sodden drawl has scuffed the vibe a bit and left us having to tread carefully to keep enjoying ourselves. But I say, let's toe the line, take it in our stride, and admire this artificially enhanced poetry in all of its well-heeled glory. |
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| Reply by: SixPoundSoulCals at Feb 03, '25 20:28 | |
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Yo, Space, solid audition, not bad at all, You got rhythm, you got flow, you could answer the call. But every band needs backing, so let’s talk cash— What money you frontin’? Big wad or just trash? And before we go signin’ your name on the stand, You gotta clarify where you really land. Bin check, mate—purple or nah? ‘Cause no purple means no band, that’s just the law. The Gods already struck Striphe down, no debate, One slip off that tightrope, and you share his fate. So keep walkin’ light, keep playin’ it cool, ‘Cause one wrong step and it’s purge season for you. |
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| Reply by: Purged_By_SpikeS at Feb 04, '25 09:18 | |
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After careful consideration and expert counsel, I would like to retract my comment about bullet points. This artificially enhanced artistry from the future was simply too fantastic for me to comprehend. Special thank you to SixPoundSoulCals for leading me into the light. |
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| Reply by: TheD at Feb 04, '25 10:34 | |
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Poor Striphe he is smol. |
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| Reply by: Space-to-the-pole at Feb 04, '25 10:48 | |
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Space loves a pole more than any ole soul! He shoots his gun just for fun!
When the purgers awaken you must be mistaken, that they can forgive and forget and everyone is shaken.
twenty, thirty or even fifty days long, be careful what you say, don't use that sharp tongue!
As the graveyard fills with bodies and more, who do you trust? make god damn sure!
For most on here would sleep with your wife, then look you in the eye and say you've got a good life!
You can't trust no one, not even your 'friend' To take MR on you will need to blend.
On any given day our time will be up So stop the whinging, it's time to man up. |
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| Reply by: Davies at Feb 04, '25 13:53 | |
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