In the hour of the
Beast ask us why
"It was the best of times,
and it was the worst of times."
Old Ezra couldn't forget who
he was, so he helped Eliot on
his little endeavor. Trickling through
the cracks. Forgetting that individually
there's nothing special. We are
jokes, but as a whole the gods fear us.
In the alabaster way that eternity
laughs chant
with me in the nuclear
debonair way, pretending that nothing
can forge Kavacha again. Humanity is
the wasteland. We waged war
with gods only to forget. We are left to
the last. Masters of Midas. Feeding the
gold of nothing to our children.