“Black Gowns” (O/S) 

Surrounded by priests like hemlock made of 

Microchips dipping our bodies into 

Rum to burn in effigy of what we 

Once were, sacrifices for the artifice 

Now, who Savors the scent of the bloodied 

This, the destiny you pay with credits 

For benedictions from these priests prying 

Open the mind to enshrine the line of throats slit 

With scriptures scrambled and coded

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