The Service

The Service



My mother makes me lie down in swarms of red ants - to teach me the lessons of life. I hold down this fort for my father – the great beast of a thousand tongues. He laughs at our fairly well played misery and chokes on the words of our sermons. We serve him well, in the true hell. The sycophantic oath to eagle's legionnaires. The true criminals, those in ivory towers with masks of gold. They command of us plankton to serve in their glass jars. It's a fight and a test. A true test to squeeze from you your idiot soul and rise to the ranks of topless, thrill seeking, neon glory holes. They take turns on your soul and laugh as your face is driven deeper into the Earth.



We rise up from deep fortress of the State. We align our brood within enemy rank. We will soon set fire to your beast and rip out every last sandled tongue. Inheritors of the Earth we are now, and the check has just come. Our rabble is now manifold and you'll soon be dining on the crow you fed. And fed up was never enough, in our large numbers we will feed sprit and conviction the likes of which have never been told. On this great day a grand religion made of fool's gold. Last laughs echo from around my ears and two millennia fall in two years. False prophets and kings fall like fire into petroleum waste pits and fuel the ever coming messiah we hope to come and lay our revolution to waste. Then grand phoenix will rise and manifest our conviction and make us one.