The raging circus goes on far below,
'tis a sorry sight, a pigsty of a thousand woes...
But, we are too wise for sorrow
May as well fatten the sows!
This is a land of plenty for those who know.
Our thoughts are the liquor that everyone longs for,
The forbidden fruit that all desire to eat.
But their primitive 'gods' hallow an imperfect Law,
So it takes guile to avoid the Mercy Seat.
That's why our writings are painstakingly labyrinthine.
With soothing myths, we fatten the kine.
With teachings superficial and asinine,
Fitted flawlessly to the mould of the mass mind.
Sometimes we ourselves have to make a cull,
But it doesn't mean we don't care.
Every dog has his day;
An unruly mutt our collective future might annul.
We are the brightest yet most distant stars,
Only those with the keenest eyes can see who we truly are.
Our words and deeds are cloaked in mystery.
If we ever die,
We return to the earth with a surreptitious smile;
The shadows that we leave behind, others call History.