Tomato Juice

The royal confessors cherish their tender necks. What the ornate scarf hasn't wrapped like an iridescent serpent, the stiff collar will fortify with starch strong enough to force a second stroke of an assassin. They teach as one being shaved by a replacement barber. My throat is just as supple, but I will not shield it from the array of hacking instruments. Intimidation can whet finer than stone. And the rumor will circulate that I have broken ranks. Yet history will testify to the rootedness of my doctrine. I have not changed for financiers. Neither have I altered my cause for the sake of new governors. The powers have made righteousness to stink. They make honest people to be afraid. Still my strength remains in me. This is my stench, that I will not lather body and scalp in the lies of upright dogs. It is better to suffer shame under immodest rule, than it is dip in same hot springs unscrupulous advantage. Do not approach suddenly. It is my good pleasure to stain everything that coerced institutions have declared clean. They hate the truth and happily destroy anything that may reflect back their depravity. I am fixed more so than a mountain range. While scores of once committed souls experiment with frayed seductions, my hand grips more firmly the endowment of celestial love. Put no trust in brutes. Do not love their words. Avoid their paths. Do not mistake their belligerence for resolve. They set brother against brother to ensure their own maniacal ends. Sectarians love to make a bed of olive branches, but they dream exclusively of deadly plots. Their only wish is to make cattle of men. If they do not brand our bodies and direct our movements, they can not sit comfortably at their table of lords. Recover the right ways and renew vows to bleed out rather than to tinker with cruelty. Show yourself as an immovable one. Evil only charges if you run.