By Matthew Mossotti

Treading truth to lie in your bed of quicksand dreams, just to justify your route under-tow out of your mind, you’re driving down dark roads falling asleep at the wheel.

Turn around or you’ll die alone!

Or Love can wake your soul…

Wandering roundabout spirals down the dragon’s drain, your eyes follow falling starlight, blinded by black holes who twist your way in-verse.

Turn around or you’ll die alone!

Or Love can save your soul!!!

You, Psycho! You circle the same cycle!

You, Psycho! You circle the same cycle!

Stand at the crossing; ask where your life is heading now…

By Matthew Mossotti

Don’t you know, lost girl, you’re pouring out your life in rainfall teardrops from your stormy brown eyes.

Cross your heart, hope for Love

to find you crawling through the dark.

Cross your heart, hope for Love

to light the world through a word.

Falling girl, soft soul, lift your chin up to the heavens; Won’t you come on home where the angels are singing songs for you?

Cross your heart, hope for Love

to find you crawling through the dark.

Cross your heart, hope for Love

to light the world through a word.

Turn, turn, turn, girl, turn…

Cross your heart, hope for Love

to find you crawling through the dark.

Cross your heart, hope for Love

to light the world through a word.

Music and Lyrics by: Matthew Mossotti

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Cross Over Criminal (Lyrics)

By Matthew Aaron Mossotti

Cross Over Criminal

By Matthew Mossotti

Come on, cross over criminal

The Son patrols your whole soul

“Listen, you wanton creature

Lounging in your security

Saying, ‘I am, and there’s none besides me.’

You have said, ‘No one sees me.’

You have trusted your wicked ways.

Saying, ‘I am, and there’s none besides me.’”

Come on, cross over criminal

The Son patrols your whole soul

In spite of all your sorcery,

Stargazing counsel, astrology,

There is not one that can save you.”

Come on, cross over criminal

The Son patrols your whole soul

You’re mind’s eye is corrupted by diseased evolutionism

Spinning, coiling, circular, serpentine logic has you hypnotized

You’re not the way!

You’re not the way!

You’re not the way!

You’re not the way!

Come on, cross over criminal

The Son patrols your hole

Come on, cross over criminal

The Son patrols your whole soul

By Matthew Mossotti

Little Monster, that’s a mighty moan

for a crooked creepster so far from home

Little Monster, chasing girls;

You’re a drooling demon animal

A poison angel got inside you

You’re arsonist spirit blows a fire at life

BUT YOU WANT LOVE!

YOU WANT LOVE!

ALL YOU WANT IS LOVE!

Little Monster, that’s a giant groan

For a twisted trickster in a rabbit hole

Little Monster, hoarding gold;

You’re a dreaming dragon; a falling star

A poison angel got inside you

You’re arsonist spirit blows a fire at life

BUT YOU WANT LOVE!

YOU WANT LOVE!

ALL YOU WANT IS LOVE!

$%&@!%&; &%!@$@&#$…

You’re arsonist spirit blows a fire at life

BUT YOU WANT LOVE!

YOU WANT LOVE!

ALL YOU WANT IS LOVE!

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parousia

By Matthew Mossotti

Conditioning agent demons lying circles through your head;

Trip you up and tie you down, scribble nonsense on your heart.

They try to hide Imago Dei vis-à-vis your human being -

- with all their isms and their hate, spinning strung-out theory-tales.

Animal with a soul!

You’re of the world and above;

Animal with a soul!

You’re from the dust, up to Love!

Hurricanes building airplanes in junkyard mathematician’s brains;

Atoms humming harmonies; carbon life-formed symphonies;

Pandemonium pretense perpetrates progress as light.

Among the devil’s greatest tricks is make-believe he doesn’t exist.

Animal with a soul!

You’re of the world and above;

Animal with a soul!

You’re from the dust, up to Love!

Spirit spiral; super-light swirl

Animal with a soul!

You’re of the world and above;

Animal with a soul!

You’re from the dust, up to Love!

BY MATTHEW AARON MOSSOTTI

________________________________________________________________________

“Never knowing where we’re going,

We can never go astray.

To whatever variation

Our posterity may turn.”

~ C.S. Lewis – from “An Evolutionary Hymn”

Evolutionism, not to be confused with the biological theory of evolution, although the “science” proceeded from the “ism” and is one of many symptoms of the sickness, is late-stage degenerative naturalism or materialism in a snakeskin suitcase. Originating well before Darwin’s “On the Origin of Species,” the sinister mythos of evolutionism attempts to paint the First Cause black by purporting the whole of existence as something “naturally” advancing in complexity and uniformity simultaneously – as a phenomenon of perpetuated order that derives itself through incalculably improbable randomness. The subterranean ontology of evolutionism contrives no necessity for epiphenomenon and assigns material design to arbitrary mathematical coincidence.

This serpentine grail of evolutionism has thoroughly sloshed its venom over into the manifold thought-disciplines of my time and its guile has since stained the common sense reason of many of my fellow humans with a degenerative poison that makes their minds’ eyes see every surrounding system as ‘evolving’ or progressing towards some unknown state of existence that is, without reason, presumed to be inevitably ‘better.’ Thus, much of my contemporary human majority’s apprehensions of those systems that derive increasing strength from permanence (i.e. the Virtues) have ironically devolved vis-à-vis evolutionism. It is as if the toxins of this quack-philosophy called evolutionism have burned circular trenches of self-refuting logic around the very meager minds that have embraced the lavish preposterousness of this mythos as their quasi-religion, wrenching them into a worldview that reeks of the stench of decomposing rationality.

The majority brood of viper-people in my time has stumbled over its own pretenses into an unquenchable fire; the “ism” of evolution has made these masses of mankind Ouroboros vipers that chase their tails to feed on their own back ends; their minds ingest their own excrement. Like blindfolded children dizzying themselves in the delightful delusion of standing atop a self-aggrandizing pedestal as the ridiculously-presumed embodiment of the net result of competitive life surviving, as if every one person is somehow the walking-talking cusp of the ever-blooming verge of the intention of a mindless material universe, my contemporary majority human race races around itself in deepening circles, believing itself to be going somewhere, when in fact this self-justified trench-digging generation passes under and misses the same point time and again at progressively regressive depths – the point being that we humans are indeed not in a race with anything (especially including ourselves) at all whatsoever. As the vantage point of these mock-minds deepens into inverted solipsism, as these dangerous and silly snakes sink into the quicksand of their own downward spiraling circular logic, they misperceive the material advancement of their surrounding systems as progress inside themselves.

The belly-crawlers evolve only their blindness so they cannot see the hideousness of the self-evident truth they pompously mutate into a fashionably narcissistic absurdity that calls their hopeful lie lovely and smart. These tail-chasing vipers presume their plummeting position is positive because the deception of evolutionism assures them that all change for them equals refinement. The lullaby lie soothes these serpents’ souls to sleep – it takes the fools asunder by whispering the sweet-sounding sorrow that tomorrow is as hollow as today for the merely material mind that only moves to keep moving away from itself where it feels safe to assume that any deviance from any prior position indicates an ‘advancement’ or a ‘betterment’, even whilst the empty ethic of the material “I” rapaciously destroys the spiritual scaffolding upon which their own being is built.

Ah Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Hallelujah!

Back there, I bet you thought you had me…

by the soul strings in tow down under…

From the grave, from the cave, I crawled out

to the Son, to the Light, so sorry…

Not today old friend…

Thanks anyway, you tried…

I got forever on my door…

And tomorrow, the story’s the same…

Ah Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Hallelujah!

In case you don’t know what happened,

I was low, I was dull and drowning…

From the sky, Heaven cried, I let go

of the world, of your hand. Man, it’s over…

Not today old friend…

Thanks anyway, you tried…

I got forever on my door…

And tomorrow, the story’s the same…

Ah Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Hallelujah!

It’s my soul man! It’s my soul man! It’s my soul man! It’s MY SOUL!!!

Not today old friend…

Thanks anyway, you tried…

I got forever on my door…

And tomorrow, the story’s the same…

Ah Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Hallelujah!

The grave below is all astir

to meet you at your coming.

It rouses spirits of lost to greet you –

all who were leaders in the world.

It’s been a long time.

It’s been a long time coming for you.

Bright morning star, how you have fallen,

you have been cast down to the ground.

You who once laid low all of the nations

and said in your heart I’ll ascend above the stars.

It’s been a long time.

It’s been a long time coming for you.

I’ll sit enthroned on heights of sacred mountains, sacred mountains…

But you are brought down to the grave, down to the pit…

It’s been a long time.

It’s been a long time coming for you.

I’M COMING FOR YOU!!!

By Matthew Aaron Mossotti

Awkward, Love.

Stop your start – you’re talking circles.

Assume the part.

Exchange visage.

Call the lie “lovely and smart.”

Crawl on your belly.

You’re so serpentine Love.

Go chase your tail.

Ignorant Ouroborus.

Ignorant Ouroborus.

Summer is coming.

Awkward, Love.

Face the farce.

You’re losing head-games.

Admit your part.

Explain mirage.

Try to find love in the dark.

Crawl on your belly.

You’re so serpentine Love.

Go chase your tail.

Ignorant Ouroborus.

Ignorant Ouroborus.

Summer is near.

Awkward, Love.

By Matthew Aaron Mossotti

Oh, well, so you wanted more?

The sweetness has gotten sour?

Oh, well, so you’ve found the floor?

Look up and wonder, “what for?”

You done tried to fly solo.

You done tried to find the edge.

You done tried to hide yourself.

You done tried; aren’t you tired?

Oh, well, as you were; guns and roses -

- Demented wannabe super hero.

Superman’s dead. So is Nietzsche.

Your Kryptonite is your self-love.

You done tried to fly solo.

You done tried to find the edge.

You done tried to hide yourself.

You done tried; aren’t you tired?

How far will you fall down before you look up?

How far will you fall down before you look up and wonder, “what for?”

You done tried to fly solo.

You done tried to find the edge.

You done tried to hide yourself.

You done tried; aren’t you tired?