The Stupid God is working in the land
With wrinkled citrus avatar at hand
To ensure that we do not understand,
For in the understanding there is hope,
As those unknowing do not know to cope
With all the wrong into which they are roped.
In greater numbers, they occlude the noose
That swings about them, widely since still loose,
But soon to tighten so 'twill be no use
To fight. What matter any struggles be
When done suspended from the standing tree,
The soiled oak that spreads for all to see
The horrors it has worked? It is no dream
Select most, though to some it will so seem.
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