August 6, 2045


On lonely island
An orphaned nation cries out.
Silence its mortars;
Strike down from red sky
Monuments of steel-winged murder.
Go forth, inviolate scourge:
Match paths with the Artist,
Worship the cannibal within,
Tear into two,

And when
You have broken the mountains of their story;
And cast out from language
All laughter, all love,
Uncouple swiftly
That heaviest of shackles;
For laurel-leaved Victory draws near
To place upon your brow
All that you have won.

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