World Trade Craft

Postmodern Mud

Aloof are the fools who stand at the site,
Long names they will chant into cauldrons of night.
Nocturnal their mission, false flags are displayed.
Their craft is a path that is masterfully played.

People replaced and actions redoubled,
Watchers waylaid, and promotions for trouble.
Others are invited to this dreadful dance,
As patriots gaze and fall into a trance.

A play with no end, each day a line added.
Synthetic are tears with faces formatted.
As water descends down memory’s hole,
Brains are then ushered and minds are controlled.

An ever expanding power and struggle,
Far the influence of fiends in this huddle.
Yet facades will stand and new buildings rise tall,
With war on demand and unfreedom for all.

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