So help me, if there's a god here

We molested our guts to live in peace
my grandfather knew people who built in pieces.
To house a home, that contained strained spirits.
From the long walls of the North to the southern waters,
From the eastern green homes to the western wisdom.
We ate from pots made by continuing Kingdom.
Until I chewed sand and spat snakes.
I noticed you sat on improper folding from mis-trusting legs.
The ideas crippling the cups we sipped from
with barm of unforseen future masked in a bad odour.
I saw the stars for what they were,
a lifeless form that doesn't say any truth
it just rests with the brothers from the fellowship of the sky.
How have I written stories in leaking parchments
as letters keeps stumbling on empty quills,
re-enacting my prowess to dig wells for my thirst.
Wells for my thirst and not you to test,
whether oil stains has a crude impact on eyes
or fishes that with eld calamity in the face of nature.
Sing songs of our grandfather's
before the chicken's egg is hatched into a reptile.
By that time you will find thatch hearts in mud flesh.
I will discuss your existence in artificial earthquakes,
if I compromise then it means I will bear the bearded man's curse and cross this Red Sea Moses will divide.
Another man's story is another man's myth.
Shall I be the legend who discard those papers
of the philosophers stone with my hands?
For when I arise those dead notes in a rotten compatriot
Shall God help me because he is the end of my pledge?
Well! So help me if there's a god for this.