Starve the sun
Kill the spirit in the earth-man
Pride in only the puzzle of our making
Ah, to own the veins of babes
That labyrinth for the knowing
Ban the un-holy sprouting Godseed
Even the word; for the word is the seed itself
Codify even tastes of the tongue
When the colony is yours, the man is a blade
Easily mowed down if not persuadable to orthodoxy
Do you mean to breathe? That is our air, sir
Simply tender your veins, give here!
Hand me the reins