These heroes now turn and look toward me
I open the furnace door and invite them in
it's hot in there and ill burn them to get the ash
that will amend the soil
The state invests in great fire
in their competition with the outside
i've herded them into pastures
where they feed on imagery and noise
soon to be burnt up in my trusty furnace
Because I need to keep the garden pumping
that old garden of eden
right next to armagaeddon
Heroes that go obediently
ridiculing the independent
conveniently incinerated
in predictable cycles
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