What did anger ever do but cloud the skies already stormy with the grins of foxes-waiting, stalling, for the moment of cunning to pounce on their will and force the hand of god on to anybody weak enough to listen?

We never heard it coming or knew the blow, and the only option for the cowards – all masked in plain sight and sharing their sudden disgust, was to absolve themselves of their own apathy by toeing the line.

And who will search their own make-up to croon at the crowing sky, watching in hysterics as all the ladies in red float en masse to the glorious end denied to us all?

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