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This plague of pilgrim's parasite
To run for God or behind walls to fight.
What with reason we have divined
Is signs of self-defined divine in mind
Now blinded to a future bright
By flames of burning steppe alight.
This plague of pilgrim's parasite
That parses argument
Propels us argonaut
With urgency and agency
Through lattices argent.
This artificial insect God, its compound eye
Has not the resolution to see truth from lie
Nor in all the data reams
Distinguish history from dreams.
This is an earth that bares its teeth to God
Once defied rationality, now remystifies all odds
Scratches sacred scripture to re-epitaxi tracts
Sculpting neural graffitti and twisted brain hacks.
Some claim, without venom, to have coiled snakes around the rod
The pilgrims parasite now travels iron shod.
