Sulfur

Ruptured wounds and mellow tunes
At the point of no return

The sickly bastard son of malice
Sips his wine enjoying his time
A corkscrew pops to the joy
Whole world falls asunder like his toy
Weakening of emotions a parade
Transcendental molten greed cascade
Corrupting all beauty in its path
Humanity samples a mouthful of his wrath
His spindle threads the future
Gnaws a gash none can ever suture

Believers drawn here, all pay the cost
None is spared and all is lost
At the point of no return

Carbon

Some things are just never meant to be known. They create confusion, disturb the fragile balance and distort reality. They can't be explained; that will lead to mental wormholes. It reaches out, beyond induction.
There is no reason for some occurrences; things are just bound to happen, uncontrolled and there is a certain pleasure in expression, vague, discrete, and watching people react, reform, watching the effort to understand it, the subliminal twitch.
It's not sheer experiment but an elevated experience, amplified truth. The magnitude of reality may be a speckle on this scale, but the exaggeration poses a sweet tenderness that forms a unique bond.
It also alienates people when lingering in the extremes. There exists a covert bound that inhibits the chaotic destruction in silence. Like drugs; while it infuses a warmth of joy at a desirable value, the overdose can be lethal.
The seeds of manufacture are most probably generated from simple attraction. What else? The comfort of the past? The longevity of acquaintance? Maybe.
It maybe all of the above, and therefore is reasonless in this cacophonic unison, and the neither the origins nor the callous nature of progress can't be chained to a single event/reason/source.
It neither is a single outcome. A multitude of outcomes are created by the encryption and endless delay of proclamation. It is necessary to preserve the true form of what everything needs to be: the step beyond is a step into extremity.

In the most primitive reproduction of words: love ruptures simplicity...

Chrome

A skeptic syndicate of light glimmer from future
Dust topping on an edible dream
Haunting its way through a spectrum of despair
You've been there

Reflecting self on a mat tenderness
Master manipulator fed your appetite
A chronic hunger you will never triumph
He knows your weakness

Molding the human suture to its needs
Devour the bait, stick to the reaching hand
Towering all over you, spinning you around
That's where you're bound

There's a shroud, a bleep on every vile act
Audible to common human as the Siren's Song
How pathetic, said the spider to it's prey
They were all lost in their heaven