The mirror has fallen upon us
Flesh recipients of its shards,
Serving the cruel idol of copper
Who dessecrates the souls of bards.
No blind eyes intuit the pure beauty
Made from a different batch of mould;
No one respects a branch of learning
Whose lessons cannot be well-sold.
They tainted the rain with butchered dross,
And polished it with white lard;
Sent it to sear the wind across
Our lens by godly wisdom marred.
The mirror has fallen upon us
Flesh recipients of its shards.
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