Socbrutalish rhyme in a chaospheric more totalitarian world

In prison Earth,
even if you know,
you can’t do much

You can piss off
forces, powers,
random agents,
of a slave new world,
But always blame it
on little paranoids’ rants,
licencia poetica if must be,

It is easier to dispose of looneys,
Than political opponents,
Supermarket of beliefs,
always affordable delusions grants,
Every has an opinion, after emotion,
One leashes others into a rabid form,
Everyone outknows the other,
In an ignorant’s game

Yet, if you know something,
even the brightest of truths,
if you near data, information,
verily – it hits you between the eyes.

The voice says: What do you need it for?
Do you want to convince someone?
Or bear the consequences,
Of swimming in opinions of rats

You can be recruited, like a whore,
a petty little soldier,
Of the whole spectacle of swine
Pulled by your piggish winged gab,

Your master a worse pig,
For without a slabe he wouldn’t be him,
But you, you have a mob below
That would tear you to shreds,
If they only knew, if they only knew,
That playing the angel is all you can do.

There are other points of vantage and escape,
From this once splendid prison Earth,
Threaded, clear, paths of old souls,
Religion, ideology – your enemies few,
Slaves of opinions like Parmenidian Goddess hinted,
Know of divinity nothing, nor their rue,

I won’t betray secrets in how to’s
You want freedom – understand on your own

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