The Last Supper!
Yared Huluf 10-14-20
Whilst one is showered With praises And gifts made of gold, For the make believe a cause
Old Isayas is left out in the cold. A stalking horse, once a useful dark-force now looks a walking corpse With nothing to hold. Nor on his behalf nothing to be told. A dealer no ordinary schlockmeister In a broad daylight who sold Pyrrhic victory, awash with Eritrean blood For filthy rich Arab dealers. James Bond, Double O Seven, With a face mark eleven After roasting the hoi polloi in an oven With bullets and bombs as side dishes woven As The Last Supper! Whilst one is showered With praises And gifts made of gold, For the same make-believe cause Old Isayas is left out in the cold. A stalking horse, once a useful dark-force Now looks a walking corpse With nothing to hold. Nor on his behalf nothing to be told. A dealer no ordinary schlockmeister In a broad daylight who sold Pyrrhic victory awash with Eritrean blood for filthy rich Arab dealers. James Bond, Double O Seven, With a face mark eleven After roasting the hoi polloi in an oven With bullets and bombs as side dishes woven As the Last Supper: For eternity to remember! Everyone who partook Evaporated into a silky smoke. A feast he felt that paves his way to heaven. Multitasked double agent He has no time to lament. Exterminate camates who fought next, Those who shared the same plate, And Sheltered in the same burrowed cabinet. All these shenanigans for what you might ask? The answer my friend Is blowing in the wind. He has a sick mind, Penned with solipsistic bind! My friend, you, and I, How hard we might try, Cannot mend, Even if we stretch and bend.
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