Process Church

Boot stomped moneymaker, Picasso-rearranged faces, razed acres

The prisoners they’ve taken, overnight made ancient

Given all the punishment they could take by agents

He stoops to say “Bite the pavement.”

Across thin ice, blithely skating 

No escape’s what they’re saying 

Lions once; now tamed, gentled, lamed.

More than a bit of truth around pizzagate 

But they evade cages, they have their ways 

Secret runways, hidden caves 

Entire cities beneath the waves 

The last man to make a brave statement 

Came up like he’d been gnawed by caiman 

Fingers displaced, face erased 

Facts twisted, rearranged 

To suit their message on the day 

Shoot the messenger on his way 

Smoke and soot, sky all grey 

Shit-painted water stains the bay 

Old bloodstains, can’t be scraped away.

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