Dusk of Civilization

had a vaguely unsettling amount of fun writing this one. It’s not meant to be taken too seriously… or is it?

Casinos catechize like temples for fools‚

fools that indulge in the grandest of golds

and burn upon pitiful pyres of pyrite

as the forever-flaming urban night unfolds.

 

The angels above hear the cries of the doomed

(you mere mortal men who make money like love)

and tower with power o’er glittering town

with the sore scathing stares of those from above.

 

Silence! Young babe, look out at the night

and behold Babylon, the priestesses are out—

their hair in long tangles, their clanking gold bangles,

how intoxicated they are as they stumble about.

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