We are on our road to heaven, they said, it is us each a heaven.
It is a place outside the boundaries of borders, quite so, it is their vern death!

Brick on brick, stacking morsals of flesh, melting soulless parts to gods.
The new, stacked from out the abbatoir refuse, devoid of gender, roots, faces...

Then do not hate you, yet then despise your mind,
Then do not hate you, yet then despise your kind!

Then are all over screens and scripture, the colorful faces who did arrive,
Then have a new tongue, aligned, having spit the old ones in the face of their former gods.

Brenda, cursed be these weak times, what have they done to you?

Cursed be the age of the rootless, what have they done to you?