More of the Same

What is the paradox? I leave the space provided Blank In hopes that I will be granted The magistrate degree of honorary fool You think that I'll call you a god? You wish that I'd call you a god? You're not a fucking god All stand in arms with robes Patched Immaculately stitched and sewn With dubious achievements All facing outside But then within I feel that cherished nothing Destroyed by each And every single pass under the arch Who's path is not to be devoured Underneath the stars And who's abode is lit by drawings On the altars Is yet to know how temptress draws her blood In bloom of pricks and vaginal discharges Seeing as I'm alive and there's a giant modem in the sky I'm going to burn my house down to rid it of the spirits Burn my house down Burn it down to the ground