The Praetor is always right

 

I

Swipe left, swipe right, there's a new ghost in the Town;

to tell your personal Jebus Crossovers, how the lame

and blind can hold the Fort against David, while clowns

serve Goliath, to erect altars for death and Anakh for frowns.

Nobody wants to live forever, trying to hide in bat-caves;

mole-hunters hills, lest the eye of Sauron shines on the bereaved.

Saruman will know, under his white hand, how to aid the down.

II

Nobody fights the wars, but declarations and pubic interest;

the L was left for Luthor, while Superman stood trial on error.

Nobody excused themselves, ass-pirates aspired to contest;

why should you die on this hill, then you need to care for the less!

Thus there is anger against the upright, and everlasting terror;

for the Praetor is always right, even if he's left over the tenure.

Who dares to speak against the Empire, who was simped Best!

III

Ghosts in the Shell, wanton to deus ex the rusted cogs in the wheel;

never stop turning, as the fabric got lubricated, Ezekiel turned over.

Why did his angels go up the offering-mound, their gaze steeled?

Sodom and Gomorrah erected once more, as is Nineveh unReal;

once again, they shall crumble, then the pride exalts itself sober!

Misled and miscarried the sheeple, then the vultures hangover;

ravens peck their orders from community guidenlined strikestreams.