Harvest

Harvest The wisest men bear folly, their loins issue and foolish sons increase the ruins of nations. A spawn of humanity born of tissue rises through its own machinations. When the time is ripe, prophetic words like vinegar burns into your marrow; tomorrow you will feel their swords - for that is the path you must follow. And time then will increase your moans when they have invaded your perfumed homes, taken the comfort from your zones and nothing is as you assumed. When you are propelled into action gushing crimson liquid, a broken pipe wasted, dreaming of satisfaction; You will learn; men do, when the time is ripe.