by The Consul » Tue Sep 21, 2010 1:26 am
The saddest fear is the secret wish of your enemies' success. Thus of our dreams we make relics from the scraps of fools that we might avoid our own fate.
If you look hard enough within, you can see Achilles dancing on the oars still. Refusing to join in on any madness but his own.
Warn the hero inide yourself - make not war for another man's desire or the false entertainment of the gods.
Attack instead the lies, as many as the leaves, that fall round your head before the first signs of snow.
They whisper us to their murders, to count the bodies like so many coins and print their notes with the blood ink of innocents and pawns.
Rather die grasping at the wind than in the yoke of their death carriage that moves in their parade that profits a few men
and leaves the rest in mounds..........
" Morals is the butter for those who have no bread."
— B. Traven