Baba Yaga’s Gate

Chicken-leg nightmares whirl, divide and form:
Meaningless global conflict now the norm.
Baba Yaga opens her bloody maw
As cold wars, late frozen, begin to thaw.

Mussorgsky weeps at the great gate of Kyiv
Because your sick overlords love to give
Your taxes away, as they ruin farms,
To NATO’s minions in billions in arms.

The war-pigs won’t end it. No sabbath rest
For the scheming bureaucrats of the West:
Efficiently fascist Pentagon whores
Enriching themselves as they plan their wars . . .
Ozzy called it, back in the seventies
Exposing the warmonger enemies.
Propping up puppets; it’s always the same.
Fake media tell you who you should blame:
Another Hitler. How convenient.
They hope you all stay pliable, lenient
Like good meek zombies and brainwashed sheeple,
Nodding off at work, temple, and steeple…
But Modest had already glimpsed the gate
And wept in his vodka over her fate.
Treaties and armies: excuses to march
Through the looming orifice of that arch
Violating sacred trust. What a show—
Rubble and bloodstained bodies in the snow.

Call upon God to vanquish their power.
Babylon’s judgement arrives in one hour
By atom bomb, E.M.P—from the Lord.
Drop what you’re doing and take up His word.

Baba Yaga screeches her foul refrain;
Mussorgsky’s pictures light up in your brain:
Antichrist militarists are the cause
Of the conflict. But heaven has its laws.

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