You see the wise, taking sides and bracing for the coming storm,
The ogres of the past look on with stoney eyes, now blind and worn;
They know what is to come, as dark words split the hearts of men,
And blackened blood flows from the rising Master’s pen.
Listen to his retinue, they thirst for the derision,
That marks the man above with sin, and feeds their own ambition.
When truth becomes subjective and every point is moot,
Conflict rises and those who ride it worship Power, absolute.
“Seek out He that bleeds most freely, tear down His security;
“Rouse the poor to vengeance and promise them equality.
“Feed and house the wanderers every skirmish creates,
“They will replace the old guard, should they forget their place.
“Press His sons to worship daughters, and to join the growing throng,
“Let their seed spill into darkened waters, expose them when they’re wrong.
“You’ll never have to fight, though you may see them in the streets,
“As they wear the world’s whole shame, and quietly pray to die in peace.”