Patrolling the defeated campsite,
As we perform Their last religious rite.
Like a storm, we ravished the dead of night,
Just another toxic waste site.
Every gardener’s delight,
Exit stage right.

Greetings from the cast iron cage.
We live in an age,
Where existence is on live stage.
Swept through sand dunes and wild sage.
Should we even bother with a title page?
Lest we discover to disengage.

Though we have all found new lives
Our old lives linger in the shadow of knives
Soon enough it will come looking
Don't step through the door opening
Only darkness outside the gates.
We're en route, our Madness awaits.

The illusion of an ivory tower.
The disastrous rise of misplaced power.
Existing.
Persisting.
The height of ignorance,
Accepted ideology in appearance.
Cognitive dissonance repeating on a wide screen.
The next twenty-four stood between
Revelation and oblivion.
The final Corinthian.

He’s fighting a war he doesn’t understand,
Governments and mass media in command.
Stacking lies disguised as truth,
Ever corrupting the fountain of youth.
For when he is called to perform mass ******,
Attention: post-traumatic stress disorder.
A well-equipped war machine
of marching men and marching bullets far between.
A soldier to the death,
Time to gasp for his parting breath.
As he drowns in the shallow pain of the Divine,
Time to join the unemployment line.

In the Alps of you and me,
There can be no victory.
The problem isn’t that you’re unfavorable,
The problem is that I don’t care enough to be capable.
Captivated by our loyalty and then berating our backstory,
Another mystery, special delivery.
No longer caged in your palace chorus,
But in my memory palace you remain victorious.
A revisionist history,
A thousand times I am sorry.

Magic aligned the astrological key,
Allied deep trenches in the grey sea,
With looming penitentiary,
Maybe later, in Firenze 14th century.