The prodigals are out recruiting again
Quoting Chronicles, Judges, Kings. Old mischiefs abroad. Afoot again
Old ruses, youth confusers: Dolce Et Decorum Est, Pro Patria Mori
Hoping the strongest and truest men, those hungriest for glory
Will fall in gory step if temperance
Be upheld as some measure of meekness, kindness as well
Became a well less drawn upon
As we descended, Soma-doped, into cyberhell
It all recalls how deed-cowed Germans
Left sense for self determination
At odds with the Salvator’s revelation
Four in total, two either side
So you have to go by them to reach the pavement
Looking oddly anachronistic, some medieval sense
Metempsychosis, a beautiful lie one whose son died cannot let go of
Yet, porous, connectedness about the procession of happenings
These were incensed souls, older than Rome, made for this role
Recycled for these ichor-stilling latter days
The slattern, the bloodspattered raiment of raving shitposter saints.
Alchemisland 
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