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PJ Poesy Nov 2015
Birds in mass, commune on crumbs
What's thrown to them, devoured
I am their Father, the wine soured
Distant when our time comes
Misinterpretation, speaking in tongues

Chimes recordings, dull church bells
Twenty first century interpretation
An audio playback congregation
Find gospels taught in prison cells
Each,  internally, their own hells

Homomorphism, the new Genesis
Everything becomes the same
No answer as to, who to, blame
For genetic selection brings us this
And all the choir coos in bliss
All groups, seem to me, to have something stuck in their ways.

— The End —