The mold persists, as if a mother
Would feed her child this worthless creed—
The Fool and Brute compete with each other
For minds, for souls, for ears in need.

And worse than words that fools have spoken—
They write whole books in dire despair,
In hopes to spread their vile, unbroken
Clichés of filth beyond repair.

The sharp, the bright, the deep, the clever—
The mob will call them mad at best,
For those who shatter norms forever
Are outcasts, freaks, unlike the rest.

To speak with style, with strength and passion
Demands a soul of rarest kind,
Yet minds are crushed in brutal fashion—
A war on Reason leaves them blind.

And filth prevails—it floods the masses,
Yet masked as jokes, as random plays.
But wit perceives the hidden passes
Where fate condemns the keenest brains.

Who dares to trace the foul mechanics
That rule this world, where fools expand?
Each pyramid is built on panic,
Each bigger fool the lesser’s hand.

Is this mere chance, or dark dominion?
Who writes the script? Who casts the die?
Illusion crafts the world’s opinion,
And minds are chained without a cry.

Who plumbs such depths and sees the measure
Of total darkness, thought controlled?
A mind deprived of depth and pleasure
Will fail to grasp the lies retold.

Yet who will count the cost and tally
The wounds left by this dull disease?
To tear through filth and face the valley
Demands a tongue the ages seize.

Through years they twist and taint expression—
Take "be-" and turn it into "less".
With Fear and Lies they force submission,
And fools embrace each new distress.

Their "measures" proved through fear’s compliance,
As CowID’s grip would twist and bind.
To stand against deceit and silence
Requires a force they’ll never find.