We are all suffering under the weight of your invisible boots, 
drones bred blind, humming and dancing for a pauper's pupetteer's ransom.
To see the sons of ours born promised, factory stamped to no one we've ever met;
To look up at the sky, here, so very small
is to fight wool in the icy Volga, blackened by the coal to fuel the drivers of our impending doom.
In nomine Patris et Filii et Spir...

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