When Human Compost Stains All Earth And Repels The Messengers Of Love

I hope to be there when the eggs of skepticism hatch and develop into superior
bodies of free thought
They hope to be there when the timbers split and bio-germ death decorates the
skies like a thousand devils winking
Anchor our hands
Recapture our minds
Salvation’s rent is due and cerebral bankruptcy has been filed
The potter’s wheel has been re-invented and his products will never die
The butcher’s blade has been whet and his products were never alive
So let the tree of previous knowledge fall and be the first to vacate the hive