War is profit full stop.
Let’s get it straight and start from the top.

Who are we fighting? What do they wear?
People who live in caves and don't have life fair
This is the enemy of us all, really?
Blowing up city buildings from mountains easily
Our soldiers searching rocks in a far off place
Looking for an enemy that has no face
Financial overlords from across the sea
Learning early that war is profit and a guarantee

An event, then a call to arms will be heard
As soon as the building’s in New York were disturbed
Terror spreading across our great nations
We’re under attack, we’ve been threatened, our families foundations
Fake reports painted to portray
Confusing leaders into mistakes of a massive way
Intelligence agencies with links with the banks
Just to raise funds for more missiles and tanks

Iraq, Afghanistan, pipelines through the Caspian Sea
Establish bases and destabilise the Middle East
Then the big one, there’ll be no choice
They refuse to reform claims a muffled CIA voice
That’s it, they’ve ignored our instruction
Time for democratic war, oil and destruction
Turning children into terrorists for decades to come
An eternal war, good for a few and profit for a hidden some.

Through media hysteria people will cry
‘We want blood, revenge, the enemy must die!’
Funding war by borrowing from the bank
As we pay for death through some awful tax prank
The evil distain of the cancer man must be reined in soon
Or the earth and the average man will all be doomed
They laugh at our boys searching in caves
As they sit back sipping whiskey at the Bohemia parade

South America, South-East Asia, now Arabia
Is there anywhere left?
The element across our shores will not quit
Their lifestyle too much to sustain fit
Their currency shrinking, the banks desperate
Robbing honest American homes to address it
Carving a war path for far too long now
****** and death acceptable as long as profits grow

*“Give me control of a nation’s money supply,
and I care not who makes its laws.”
Mayer Amschel Rothschild.

Is this your boring time, or a roaring time

tale
eating itself, perse, Percival,

quaff from the silver cup, ere the golden bowl
is broken,
in this round

of heavy metal madness conducted by

the arms of Krupp,
produced with the financial wizardty

of Meyer Amschel, himself, behind the sign

of the red shield. Kein Scheisze, no wuwu none dare

call conspiracy or treason, this is reason

remaining from my last dis
course, or dis
curse, or
cuss, just cussgodamitall, a bit
go
dam it all, god
am it all to hell and imagine god did it to make
imperial valley bloom.

OOP. object orientation program, re
set.

Are you ready? Post-read, going ons get sticky, in some
foul smelling ways,

lessons in preparation for separation from

individuated minds, feels
crazy, but it's like
any giant step, in your first thousand league boots,

stepping into an un known with a being
called a poet.

Feels just,
like falling, easy as accepting Pi for Tau now. Knowing
no better.