Reality keeps modulating like Barry Manilow
But there’s nothing but the usual
Sex slaves from Satanic rituals on TV,
HAARP-wave terrorist earthquakes,
Nuclear bombs on the Middle East,
The hopelessness of the controllers
Who know they have no funk
And thus no future, who know they cannot
Cross the barrier without love,
Bless them, what they call fact is fiction
And fiction just a way to acquiescence to their fact
Like Hitler was created so we’d acquiesce to Israel
And Vietnam started (like fluoride for the pineal)
To accommodate LSD
And bring forth what a recovering psychonaut might call
Trespassing on the stargate like a criminal.
Bless them how they serve God, Lucifer and us
As we feed like stocks on information
All of it subtly laced with poison
And the hand that kindly drops it will not share
The secrets on the higher step.
Bless us that we want it just like that –
We like to transform porn into the holy,
Prefer trained clones as politicians,
Want to turn the world on to our toxins.
Bless me too how I liked the mansion
With its Spanish stucco tiles on the guard tower,
The stooped and miserable insect people
Inside, how they excited me.
It’s belief that plagues the non-believer.
Are the faithful really enslaved for making belief
Matter? - when it merely sparkles, phosphorescent,
Waiting to be set free, the panther in a world of vapor
Pouncing on air and drawing blood.
