Right on the dais of their law-dismaking, my compatriots fail to see the big blot on the moon. They wriggle out not in disappointment but in confusion as they are blinded by the blight on the brilliant moon. They scream and are not heard for their voice is swallowed in the roar of the beast. The foul stench of the master’s hand slouches above their heads like a heavy load of shit and like fish out of they ocean, they gulp the filthy air in total destitution. They throw their hands in the air not to fight but to plaint, for to the truth of strength have their reason been killed by the cult.
I see them as they prance from end to end in the glass house, dwarfed by their fear, engulfed by their sorrow. Yet without ado, they swallow the pill of the sweet lie. They serve as they weep for breath in this suffocation but the master of the lie has tied their tongues to a doctrine. Helpless as a cripple, they fidget all along while the man in the gandora wields a smile of genocide. They feel the pain of emptiness but cannot take the hand of liberation, they see the bleak tomorrow but cannot light the lamp of courage. They are doomed in their mutations, born of seeds of fine discord. And as they walk this path to perdition, I see our sons and daughters caught in this forevermore. If only they are wise to listen to this voice that calls them forth, then they will learn to take the call: “get thee out of Babylon the Great Harlot!”
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