He who builds the walls.
Who writes the laws.
He governs the flesh.
Who rings the necks.
Builds high the stack of bones.
High enough that when it falls.
Will widen the crack.
And divide the very earth itself.
A fissure to mark the end of days.
And the beginning of the next.
Crucify the old ways.
And hang them by the neck.
Run and hide or run and die.
Or sit and wait for death.
The code you live by, the antique rites.
To stubborn to accept the next way of life.
On the brink of a fissure.
And a rope within your reach.
A pious scion of the dawn would rather die.
His new dream will carry on without you.
Dead and buried, they're happier without you.
This brave new age is better off without you.
All the rest are gone, the old world dies with you.
The old world dies with you.
The tide will sweep you away.
This great crack will swallow you up.
And the earth will close up above you.
Crucify the old ways.
And hang them by the neck.
Dead.
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