Ailing Apes, our shelled empty gesture,
A mimicry of nature,
Abandoning our ancestors,
In mockery of future.
Soon my darlings, we shall see,
The genuine apple on the tree,
Will it sleep or will we eat?
Oh, we'll feast assured,
On all the wisdom we've procured,
And it will pass, still unabsorbed,
To provide us spread for intercourse,
With infectious sores of Holy Whores,
That fester into plagues of wars,
Sieving savage poor from poor,
Until enough have died for our protectors .

T.W. Jolin