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I need not necessarily
your flesh to multiply
but your brains to think rigorously, strategically
artfully a way
to tear down your Tower of Babel
painstakingly and indifferently built
from the bones and blood
of a few amongst your kind
now as my mercenaries be enslaved
suffer from undiagnosable symptom called
On clock but not grid they gather
be summoned
by the cry of their ancestors' resentment
spill unto this Earth I breed
unto your downfall I feed
For I come in greater numbers
I am Legion
Recorded by geological strata, a highly advanced civilization was annihilated by a pandemic virus in a form failed to be predicted by its victims, turning healthy intelligent individuals to murderous ones who have the capacity to cover up their crimes, which allows them to slay many before being executed by their social system or their peer victims.
(2 interesting facts can be discovered from this translation of the testimony left by the virus "mastermind": 1. Its self consciousness exists in every and none of its copies, no matter the population. 2. it has no concept of time.)
This tiny ark of our civilizations
has been spilling all around radio waves
which might feed or **** some of our neighbours
It's not impossible that radio wave might be nutritious or lethal to some alien life forms.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Horses tap the Earth restless
Breath strikes chilly out of morning air
Stomach twists, jaw shakes
blood suffocates
Desperate as we ride
blurry as horizon fades
Your wings swallow up the blood-soaked sky

Here i am
with all the years not deserve
surrounded by your messengers
singing songs for all the very worst wishes
that how come i still alive

It is the memory not the time
roaming about every night
on every faces in my sight
faces familiar once, never later
question forever
Why i granted your spare

Not spare but re-descending this moment
wrapped in armor, pierced by spear
horses tap the Earth and roar the air
hands wielding swords, eyes forward
Charging with head held high
Oh my dearest i embrace
your eternity, your darkness
in this manner not desert another time
Silence and noise of the night
like a far, far away sigh
whistle of a train
leaving station

Flickering windows of families
thousands of them
waving, drifting
in galaxy of concrete and glass
pushing, shoving
striving for the honor
to peep on her

Under the light warm
of old road lamp
fragments of sunshine
scatter and cover
this asphalt river

A verdant poplar tree sprouting
swaying, dancing
on top of the morning
For LY
A section sliced from morning rainbow
Arbitrarily roam over silver waterfall
Merge into long river running through
Vast plain, lake and tree of wisdom
****** the very ancestors of ours to fall
Whilst appearing like colorful strips enclosing
A gift box full of banners collected from astral
Waiting to decorate a gallery hall
Scaling the distance between earth and space
Shooting jet trails to every shore
Aside this vertical, asphalt sea
Glowing like night sky
Pouring down into my eye

Oh, baby,
It's a butterfly.
For LY
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