The massive flesh of sordid humanity
A passive picking of poison
In ones, twos and multitudes
A world stuck in insomnia
An evangelist of woe
A cry we all echo
In our sleeps,
In our walks
In what seems to be rest
And in what is mobility
Our mind is a bird
One with many offsprings
An odious spawn
Harmful, of an exotic wicked cackle
An incessant, malevolent interjection
To the monotony that was to be Man
But the man had the bird, a mind
That which became the death of him
Fast and high killing
Strong, mighty, wilful and precise
Yet dormant and wholly wrong
It has brought about our doom
The only solution if I ever saw one,
Is for the evangelist to cry louder
Pray to the universe, whatever
To be granted an opportunity to relive perhaps
A time past even if for a lone second
When humanity was mindless, a dormant thing
A dumb fragrance, a mere physical body


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