Heavens thunder rendered mute as sputniks descendants shout commands to their armies. The precious ally, detested foe, its forces crushing regimes like castles made of sand, laying siege to the senses. Arming its minions with black, honey combed maces bludgeoning answers out your skull, boxes to steel your whispers and those fiendish 3rd eyes forever flashing, blasting holes in the night till it bleeds sunshine. Black ink spills onto page as the blood of truth seeps into the gutter laying lifeless and cold, linking ignorance of past to apathy of future as villains are turned heroes and heroes turned villains. The invisible hand that shapes society's clay, stacking its bricks to build the school of inattention, where we learn to look without seeing, listen without hearing, talk without speaking. Behold the faceless master of the masses.
