If our art in magic be the work of cartoon devils
Then what is it that they who would claim themselves
As angels upon this plain would call their prayer?
Are they not themselves invoking the gods?
Down on their knees, begging, pleading for miracles
Are they not themselves giving themselves to the earth.
How foolish it seems to define reality from dreams
When it is through our dreams that we aspire towards
The creation of a heavens bliss on earth.
Red dirt shamans sit casting sticks upon the ground
Reading the past, the present and the future in their fall.
Evangilists are the beggers of the spiritual world,
Those grim eyed men and woman that would attempt
In convincing you that they were your only chance of
Redemption. They perdition a cartoon lord who resembles
More father christmas than he does any hope of unity.
They ask for favours without hoping to give anything
In return, they ask for favours when it is they that
Would burn their brothers or sisters for attempting
To offer help in a manner they found un natural to
Their faith. What god would help our cause if we are
Not willing to open ourselves to the help of those around
Us even if they be those same souls that we would wish
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.