Let this veil be lifted. Let this shroud cease to function.
And let my people go, Pharoah!
Let the voice of the weak be our anchor. Our clarion. Our rallying point.

May the countable not slay the uncountables.

Let this soap stop its course towards my eyes in the middle of this stream.
The wise man ends his reign the day the fool becomes wise.

The wise is content in his own counsel, but the fool is full of understanding that helps him not.

May the reign of evil over good truly be temporary.
The smack satisfaction of the wise lasts only but a night. 

But the cries of the weak ascend all year.

That hidden from the fool is soon made known by an unseen hand. Selah!
The counsel of the wicked is like coals of fire heaped on the heads of his descendants. But the words of the sorrowful is like light on the path of the discerning.

The heart that remains tender is soon woken up to the machinations of the wicked. But he too shall not smile for too long.
The bounds of deceit is weak. But the minds of the deceived is vast.

Oh Pharoah! Let my people go!
Leave us alone, oh Pharoah! 

Let my people sing. Sing their own songs.

Let the little harvests from the meager fields be savored in peace. And let the sleep of the poor be as deep as their non assuming minds. May the wicked continue to sit with the lords of insomnia in the valleys of Asgard. 
Oh Rahgveg! You god of paranoia. May your fence linings be robed with their names and consciences. As their hearts know no repentance, so shall their eyes know no sleep.
Let this veil be lifted. Finally. Let this shroud cease to exist!

Let my people go, oh Pharoah!


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