This world’s a spindle,
No chance here, no accident,
And choice? Zero.
You could be a thread,
Woven tight in the fabric,
Spun in the common ball,
Or a bowstring, drawn for war, sharp and feral.

This is for those who’ve long
Resisted belief like it’s cult-born.
And it seems,
I’m fated to flee or
Die as a heretic torn.

Them worldview’s a cage,
It traps minds in a mesh,
Twists of pipes, feeding gas.
Them creed’s a false religion,
Woven tight like a textile rag,
A veil.
They learned its name, but missed the meaning,
Is this what you’ve been chasing, unveiling?

I clutch in my hand a note that says
I hold back my mind, yet the heart
Craves to break past these walls.
This city grows tired of despot’s reign,
Cuts deep, seeking cause and effect,
Not all’s lost, after all.
Everywhere, a satyric dance,
Inaction under the guise of faith and icons’ call.
Even a miracle balm won’t save it all.

It’s all intertwined,
Yet alone we stand, in our flesh confined,
We live, and so shall we fall.
We’ll nourish this city, become its fuel,
Strengthen its walls.
But for now,
We’ll slip shades into their black-and-white,
Hues and colors to overrule.
Bishops are strong, but we’re a legion, tall.
Though some of us are seen as cranks,
Conspiracy theorists, misunderstood,
But if you want to hide something,
Hide it in plain sight,
And lead them astray, lost in the woods.
That’s how I escaped,
Think on it, if you could.