Iconoclast

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Every last one of them

Your stony and erect idols

Shall fall to the ground

Crashing

That’s where they all belong anyhow

 

Every last one of them

Not one shall be excluded

Thousands of pieces shattered

A heap of monumental nothings

No longer erect in the city square

 

No longer monuments of power and prestige

But now rather sentiments of shame

Woe unto the hands who built them

And cursed also be their works

A company of idiots, fools, and jerks

Who blinked at wisdom’s stare

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