There is a thingly thing,
Which tired of being content
And which thus fell from healthy rank
To serpent that would not relent.
The figures who allied that goal
Built destinies with ill. They've grown
So self-defining, they’re like walls
You can run through, but
Can’t disown.
There is a thingly thing,
Which croons for all to follow it,
Misleading clouded followers
To take their soul and swallow it.
He breaks a broken twig in two
And drowns the light of day,
Combining falsities to cease
Them quick discerning
They’re just clay.
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