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In the midst of the gloom that sits on us like granite, I can see the sun.
As the illegitimate bastard son tries to make (Seig) Heil To The Chief the official motto of these United States, I can see the sun.
I remember back to Nixon, the Silent Majority, and the hate that found cover under Love It Or Leave It. I see it again now, wrapped in Terra, Terra, Terra, multiplied ten fold and reeking of fake legitimacy. But I can see the sun.
I know how easily fooled they all were, as they pressed yellow magnets to metal and took another spoonful of "we won't let it happen again" medicine, thinking Crawford, Texas was the Mayo Clinic. They were told it was champagne, but only now are they beginning to realize it was nothing but seltzer water and the doctor was a quack, laughing all the way to the bank, sidestepping the bodies and wiping off the blood.
The sun is coming out, but the Powers That Control All still run the fog machines and fling propaganda at the faithful, who discount their bloated bellies and wait for more. They are fewer in number now, but their leaders are drunk with power and are ramming the train at anyone that dares to question.
The questioners, though, have gotten smarter, and are finally moving out of the way.
Into the sun.
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