Two years 'til the End, yet Dawn's not unfurled
God in his Place and all reich with the World.
I've tried, how I've tried, with lies and in scorn,
To heed His whisper: "Corrupt and suborn,
Reshape all this land as feudal in mold,
And make highly noble the Corporate Fold."
The tools I was given were ancient, yet bold,
The same long employed by barons of old:
Terror and Fear, sown Division and Shame,
All proved fabulous used in my name.
That I mastered them well, I offer as proof
That Wrong is now Right, and Lying is Truth.
The Past I've turned clay, and molded to shape
A tale of History that's but its rape.
And, all the Dead lying in wait of Charon,
Died not in vain, but for Cause of my own
As good sheeple should, for God has decreed
Me as Decider, they, fuel for my leede.
So, why are my minions now falling away,
Treacherous scum, in confused disarray?
And, over a thing so small and pic'yune
It boggles the mind: Mere Torture's the tune
They're playing on strings while sobbing in pain
Like delicate schoolgirls caught in the rain!
It sure would be funny, if not for the gall:
They're "terrists", stupid, not human at all!
And, as for the World and quaintness of law:
God's says I'm Master, regard me with awe.
- by Gaia Sighs