Plebicide

Between the cracks we see red lines The unconscious marring of our minds Obese the tick, the parasite Your close friend? Allies? Now cast aside Inane... cut your nose to feel alive Domain... Just for spite you will deny Insane... the collective delusion will buy Estrange... too late, the wolf cried As the 11th hour, draws to a close Divergent hypocrisy, disgust for imagined foes Stoking fears, feed the populist line Distraction, consumes my weary mind And what of the prophet Unmasked and now named For he rought his vengeance Deceit for the fame And all of the promise And none of the plight He would not forsake you No! Not on this night