Per Me reges regnant (“It is through me that Kings reign.”)
The book is open, when you are so beautiful I don’t know what to do. The birds have had their legs cut off with secateurs. The world assembles to witness the peacock slaughtered in the forest. (The giant rotting corpse of the God of Greed stinks in the kitchen).
The book is open, when you are so guilty I don’t know what to do. You sob like a child who crushed her kitten while sleeping. The owl hoots in tune his tribesman cheering.
There are no rules in the book, who told you those lies?
There is no book, I think you’ll find!
The protocols are just guidelines to enslave the blind man with 14 billion eyes.
A forgery implies an original, does it not, your honour?
We chased Mammon for so long when we caught him we set about the slaughter. Valley of Death, we laughed, Fear, we laughed, as we held down the fat evil bastard and cut him to bits.
© Brentley Frazer 2010