I'm Sorry if This Doesn't Mesh With Your Plans
Aye. A people deserve the leaders appointed to them. And the hills are burning and the heads are imploding and the ones wielding the guns and tear gas are in control of the riots. And everyone is crying somewhere in their souls. Yeah the hills are burning. Yeah the tires are being punctured and the uprising is gaining force and momentum. Sheeple take the reins, feel the power, don't play the game of cowards and intimidation they would have you play.
And left is a joke and right is a holding on to dreams and the middle are hidden away, tucked away for the Day of Judgment, not willing to risk their mellowness and lofty thoughts and get their hands dirty, though there was Rabbi Meir from Gimzo to whom I really give all credit for doing something out of the ordinary and shaking something in the earth and heaven for taking a stand and burying himself in protest of the government seeding the earth during Shmitta. And where are the others?
Let them win. Let them win. Let them win this round. It's all in their head anyway. It's not real. It's all gashmiut and so they gloat in their gilded chariots filled with pork and the cries of the people are tucked in their unconsciousness maybe to surface on Judgment Day. Let them esconce themselves in high places built where schools of wisdom needed to have been built. And let the jumpers to their death find them and taint those places as they are doing already. Let the blood flow like rivers and cleanse us all. Let minds find either or - death or the blessing. With or without the help of the *generous*. Yeah the generous.
And let these burning days in the hills and the blasts in the valleys and the confusion in the towns and cities be a remembrance of what darkness was and tell it to the next generations and let them remember the bad old times when fighting was our mode of being and the struggle was relentless and unending. And we'll all bow our heads and make marks in the ground as places of holiness to give thanks that we were spared for some reason still yet unknown. And while the heat of the fires licks at our shins and feet we will prostrate ourselves and cry aloud to spare the remnant from the worst of the worst battles yet before us - and in a collective scream welling up from that place in the soul that only Truth knows - we might yet utter two syllables - one word - one sentiment - one voice - one confirmation - one prayer - one seal - one - Amen.
And left is a joke and right is a holding on to dreams and the middle are hidden away, tucked away for the Day of Judgment, not willing to risk their mellowness and lofty thoughts and get their hands dirty, though there was Rabbi Meir from Gimzo to whom I really give all credit for doing something out of the ordinary and shaking something in the earth and heaven for taking a stand and burying himself in protest of the government seeding the earth during Shmitta. And where are the others?
Let them win. Let them win. Let them win this round. It's all in their head anyway. It's not real. It's all gashmiut and so they gloat in their gilded chariots filled with pork and the cries of the people are tucked in their unconsciousness maybe to surface on Judgment Day. Let them esconce themselves in high places built where schools of wisdom needed to have been built. And let the jumpers to their death find them and taint those places as they are doing already. Let the blood flow like rivers and cleanse us all. Let minds find either or - death or the blessing. With or without the help of the *generous*. Yeah the generous.
And let these burning days in the hills and the blasts in the valleys and the confusion in the towns and cities be a remembrance of what darkness was and tell it to the next generations and let them remember the bad old times when fighting was our mode of being and the struggle was relentless and unending. And we'll all bow our heads and make marks in the ground as places of holiness to give thanks that we were spared for some reason still yet unknown. And while the heat of the fires licks at our shins and feet we will prostrate ourselves and cry aloud to spare the remnant from the worst of the worst battles yet before us - and in a collective scream welling up from that place in the soul that only Truth knows - we might yet utter two syllables - one word - one sentiment - one voice - one confirmation - one prayer - one seal - one - Amen.
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