by Nick Gisburne
You don’t belong here. This is not your place,
And these are not your people. They are mine.
We will not suffer strangers who debase
The purity of breeding in our line.
The People of Perfection, we are clean.
No heresies contaminate our thoughts.
Your trespass, your intrusion, is obscene,
A desecration sanctioned by the courts.
The children of my children are my wives,
And I, their priest, their prophet, must protest.
You seek to sully unpolluted lives,
And steal the light with which their souls are blessed.
The lies, the laws, the evil you enforce,
Will never taint my teachings with remorse.
