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The two truths we must accept at the very least

Is from where you were born and what you accept now

The rest is for desire and expectation

Grids of granules, webbed, scan the landscape

And their backs now turned to our view

Their messages dribble down the walls of their truth

Measured out in code, and this we call divine

Laid like an infant, placed in hermetics

The relics of time, rabid and ravished

The irony of it all sung in the key of shame