(AKA: Regarding Historical Fiction)
About the heavens,
Hollow is thy game.
Our thraldom’s come,
Thy work’s been done, The world’s enslaved by superstition.
Give us this day our daily dread,
And allow our caloric excesses
As we suppress those
Who’d warn others against us.
And lead us not into reflection
But deliver free-thought to peril
As imprimaturs lend awesome
Power to a story
By reprinting it for ever & ever.