Bring The Bush To His Blood
by Victor K. Pryles
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Bring this upon yourself fellow citizen-the blood, the Bush Blood.
How we are cheated in the Capitol
How dead are their bodies and souls
Again the bleak headed men are hungry for death
Until we hear not
And still fatted as we are we fear not
yet read much
Oh! Fellow marchers, Readers, Writers, Poets can you see the portent of it?
We are not from love but from brutality
And our smiles at anything makes us all
Would you speak with me?
Let not chance bespeak the crown you have appointed. Yes, you small insignificant child of gentleness.
Your Country is besmerched amidst befoolerry.
Yet you take the sweaty knife and see it delivered inside the very guts of your children. Your own.
There is none.
For fight against all souls that would forgive your heart to villainy and Terror?
For mine own part it is but a scarlet prayer against the stars.
Fail man. Fail government. Fail waiting for the world.
Think of the world and be wrought against it for whosever is for it is seduced and love is not in his breast.
In several hands have fallen the Great Lady
shaken and worse days are endured than those that scream September 11th
my dear, September 11th.
As gross and horrible as the Ides Of March.
But here is my hand. A bargain made.
You and I are friends and I love you. yet, our own, our child is slain...slain today.
Until the entire giant cataclism of TWO TOWERS worth of blood is drenched upon a foriegn land.
Oh, sweet citizen
it must be by death
but I know no personal
cause that be a certain
private nature which would
bring you to sting the very
heart of Greatness.
Until it becomes a common proof a lather of the common man who finally dies
dies to erase the Mad Bush from our land.
America I make this promise:
Go to the gate someone knocks!
Noble citizen betwixt thine eyes there lies the simple and profound
Lest they both be decieved because the sun rises and sets to settle your resolution and hopes for true liberty
Virtue, Truth, Liberty!
They stand in good opinion and you must follow them in spite of any men who would lead otherwise
All dying for Ceasar
Where are you my friends of Vietnam?
Why so silent?
Why so unresolved?
Come to the Capitol
it is the 8th hour
And Pompaii awaits your vengence to unfold
Let not your looks take on your purposes but let your deed be the strongest.
The heavens themselves blaze forth the wonders of your fear
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