They gather around the small-handed stand-in
That Stupid God sent, the citrus affliction
Painted but poorly and draped just as well,
Horse's ass standing as if centaur's front,
Their golden calf cult-focus, heeding no flame,
No wrath from on high, avenging angel,
But think themselves blessed to have such a one
Standing among the and raving as fevered,
All a-twitter and at all hours
While blood flows in the streets not ending blue lives;
They would play in the puddles and think themselves pure
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