About the Mad Age of Sheep-Virus
The city pens of CowID,
Put to the test, exposed their breed.
The trial failed: vile lice of greed
Have bent the world to suit their need.
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Memes of the Luciferian System
The System’s rules—deceit and lies,
Its memes ensure "progressive" guise,
A tool to tighten, bit by bit,
The beasts' dominion, force, and grip.
The memes grew sharper, bolder still,
More obscene and full of skill—
For many eager, servile swine
Have honed the craft and toed the line.
Their teacher, Goebbels, did his best
To shape the feeble, clueless nest.
Now dumber crowds obey and bend,
So memes must spread without an end.
With tangled words they rule the weak,
The halfwits taught the lines to speak.
And for the docile, brainwashed lot—
A catchy meme will do the job.
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Mindless Rot: No Thought, Just Plot
Thinking’s hard? Then why pretend?
Or has your brain just gone to rot?
A hollow stump with thoughtless hands
Now builds the world into a knot...
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The Poisonous Mire
To shake the beasts with fear and fire—
That's how deception takes its root.
Seek knowledge, sharpen and aspire,
Or drown within the Poisonous Mute.
For lies in "wisdom" lurk and fester,
Yet only instincts see the snare.
Expose the fraud, reveal the jester,
Let reason blaze instead of flare.
Don’t let it smolder, choked by feeling—
The path is clear, yet few will try.
The fools, in blind emotion kneeling,
See nothing greater than their pride.
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"Choice," They Say
Fish may choose,
Or some big wheel.
Or the bend
Of shower steel.
Naught beyond—
That’s all we know.
Clear as day:
We've hit the low.
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The Mind’s Futile Toil
The world is swarmed with half-beast kin,
Thus reason’s works all meet their fall—
For only HUMANS hear within
The Highest calling—if at all.
Yet minds fall ill, consumed by blight,
Few stand to heed the noble peak.
And toil of reason, stripped of light,
If blind to Him—then you’re a freak.
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The Freaks of Politics
So many twisted, soulless breeds,
Yet all emerge from just one source.
Their goal? To set the kin at odds,
To pit the neighbor in the course.
Their master—Satan. Few will see,
Just party heads know what’s at play.
The rest are pawns, they serve for free—
No physicist will light their way.
One cashbox fuels the whole charade,
Yet tell the fools their banks compete.
They twist the minds through lies well-paid,
Like poisoned cheese—a deadly treat.
The Cheesemaster will grant them more,
For folly feeds his grandest feast.
Deception spreads—the richest store,
And fools bring profit to the beast.
That profit? Agony and dread,
The beasts extract from human prey.
And puppets dance as Satan’s bred—
Just minions in this foul play.
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Muse or Girth?
For poets, oft the choice is clear—
The belly wins, the verse must die.
Thus many songs just disappear...
All hail the filth they raise up high!
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The Muse That Drags You Down
The Muse pulls down—a heavy chain—
To social depths, a hopeless mire.
Yet rising high, a stench remains,
Where eagles, cranes will choke and tire.
A foolish canary, caged in gold,
Still sings for beasts in their domain,
Its feeble tunes, so meek and cold,
Just blend into their wailing strain.
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"Choice," They Say
Is it choice—
Or just a gleam?
World’s a rack,
And beasts—extreme.
--- Total 10 poems. ---
