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Hate hate hate. Vitriole, fire, envy, lust upon lust of the  devouring skin animals. To be rid of the flesh, to arise a new mammal, animus, deity of infamy that takes rein of the fledgling centurion. Awaiting heaven’s gate with locke and key in hand. Eerie tales wrapping around cupped ears tom peeping at the mother’s door.

Secrets, lies, more stories of fleeting importance fluttering down the manifold staircases; can you catch a hold of it? No not I says the wandering piper that lies in the wake of the sickly spurious settlers. Villagers of defiant nature twiddling thumbs that wag of disapproval and tasteless condemnation. Oh, who are the saintly ones that measure up to glorified standards? Who be the ones who equal our divine wishes in an era of hedonist debauchery that lick and lash at moral fibres?

In this epoch, you, the one who hastens to lie and slander, are the only angel among the fornicating innumerous demons populating the higher strata. The age old battle replaying anon. Again and again the forks clash the spears, the tails and wings duel at let there be light arrival. What has time to do with victory? What has victory to do with the play of happiness ever ready for collection?

We the lesser know not what to do when the upper echelons fail us. When the over and above lose faith and face thus prohibiting our ascendance. No more of lost shams turned to shambles, the eternal play of the wicked versus the just that tickles at our ears in comical cartoon fashion. No more of dangling paradise like so much mistletoe. Reach out for salvation and unearthly satisfaction.

Whether tis fortune that we borrow a heart to fulfill the saintly duty or suffer at the hands of spiteful failure. It is to writ that we endeavor to make amends of our wistful tattered souls.