With usura hath no man a house of good stone / each block cut smooth and well fitting / that design might cover their face, / with usura / hath no man a painted paradise on his church wall… Usura rusteth the chisel / It rusteth the craft and the craftsman / It gnaweth the thread in the loom… / Usura slayeth the child in the womb… / They have brought whores for Eleusis / Corpses are set to banquet / at behest of usura.
I walk this lonely road, but the only thing I feel, is overpowering hatred for these cities of steel. No longer are we tied to earth, mud, mother, life, but we build our towers of babel up into the sky, and we think we are gods, but the gods laugh at us and our folly. They could stamp out our cities like a boot on an anthill… But not yet. There are still believers in the hidden dark gods, and so long as even one follower of the gods remains true to the old ways, they will let us fight, so we may enter Valhalla, where there is no glass, no concrete, no buildings of steel. Let none enter here who has ever used a “smart” phone.