He who controls the strings, controls the purse. Yes, They Live in every facet of the machine. Engineering consent, swaying opinion through false reality, tendering your life as you amble aimlessly forward-in-reverse. Yes, reality control is their specialty. What of the future? Crash, boom, bang, the combustion of fractional reserve quantitative easing is the real threat, the polluter, the oxygen thief. Crash, boom, bang. Thuggees, hassissins, peddling their petro-opiates to the masses. Crashes, that's their specialty, the cycle of death. Boom, wait for it, wait for it, death rides, listen for the hoof beats. Bang, life is a a vapor, consumed, exhaust, we are the pollutant. Listen, the pale green rider peddles the 7x7x7 agenda. Recycled history is their path. Littered with failed policies dipped in black and red all over. You are the prize. Hidden, obscured, laying before your very eyes. Basic instruction before leaving, eternal life, blurred by lies. Death rides, hooded, inflated, bloated -- a blasphemous mouth croaking f-lies.
But first a false light, masquerading as savior, enrapturing the masses, passes by, capturing, conquering, listen, the white horse rider haunts the horde. False promises. To be cont.'d ...
No comments:
Post a Comment