Wrapped in the filth and decay of these contorted dying cities, Babylons mad strangled voice
Turbans and crowns, caps of digital klaxons blaring the dead time hour after hour after another strangled voice
Bleeps in and out of abject commission
Wrapped in filth and nakedness of infectious decay, rolled up like antique mummies
ranks of tomb creatures like universal objects of dirty water and clay, drying, dying day by day
Bable of Voice blare, moan in whispering shouts of prayer all
Alone with so many lost together enmasse as One
DIscordant impotent song of inverse praise, (dear gods, is no one there ?)

On obverse mirror slides model citizens portray non dimensional roles for influence and pay
This is the dark mass, this is the holy wafer of citizen sacrament
Holy Dollar, stolen crucifix , massacre of a world for lack of a better word to say,

Joined with twisted mangled limbs of mortally entwined with feathery frieze of angels swooping from high to low
Coined and minted to wrangled slogans, diaspora and pogrom beat like polluted tides heavy, light, dead sensitive and numb,

Flailing moths in midnight colors trapped, chiaroscuro others, objects on display
Contorted dying cities, Babylons mad strangled voice wrapped, in filth and decay . . .

The World that was has Gone
A monstrous monolith of ill and pain manifests as Salvation
To The Masses
To The Masses
Huddled and muddled
Inchoate and befuddled
Some hideous beast appears between all ears
It speaks
So articulate
And inparticulate
Nothing is real of late
Time freaks
Sound reeks
Of fraud
Such gods display
On screens today
Only creatures
So very odd and vain
With nothing to explain
Only the theft of souls
Like some unholy ghouls
Selling this death to fools
Blind alleys wrapped, alone
The World that has gone