The fools, strengthened by
swords and the lies of the
genocide; they are the first
to enter the storm, the first
to die in it. Lick up this insanity,
it is healthful, it will duplicate
inside you. Drink it, for if this glass
shatters, if this bowl becomes
blood, then all will be lost,
and Man shall realize
that stones are the weapons of war.
Take this axe, live, as Death
carries away your soul, mars this path
with gore, for I will need to follow you.
There may be a chance still, the war
carries on inside this library, inside this
cell, dented with firepower
and sorrow. Have you lived here forever?
This old man, a beard and a spiderweb,
a blanket to lay over myself
as I weather the storm.
Huddle with me, if you are not already dead.
