And so it begins...


My mind is knotted in fists of rage
To think of evil, ever waxing great,
The oligarchic purposes bait
Their pious, sneering prose with maxims sage.
While we, the less, beckoned to a cage
Of seeming safety, where for a price we sate
Needs, primal or artificed, it is our fate 
To ever desire, in youth or age.
 
But Lo! They have revealed their hand,
Just at the point where it seems that they have won!
And we but a poor, merry band
Have seen the horror driving their madness on.
Light the beacons! Awake the land!
Quick, on your knees, in prayer adore the Son.