Soft, bitching and pathetic grown boys on both sides.

Let them both burn and foster in their own rage.

Let them both taste of their own wrath.

Let them both come to me.

Hate the other, curse the other and with clenched teeth murmur.

Everyone waiting on grown boys to make a mistake and capitalize.

Men don't speak, they hold their silence.

They wait for the mistakes of grown boys to make.

Men cheer and encourage when they hear their thoughts spoken by grown boys and the grown boys feel like men.

Both sides armies of hate.

One raisins and the other prunes.

Let hate be in them all, they will fall.

Let hate be in just one, God will call.

Every book, every thought. It's all mine!

Stop writing, stop thinking.

Here have some wine.

Wine.

Wine.

Wine.

All grown boys can do is wine.

Empires of costumes and toys. Fight! Fight! Put on this costume, play with this toy and FIGHT!

Careful now lonely old man, some grown boys believed your praise. There's not enough hate in this world to feed your armies now that you fed the boy God just called.

>>14221067

Grapes ferment.

Prunes do not.

>>14221121

First they came for the communist but I was not a communist so I did not speak out.

Then they came for the socialist… I did not speak out.

Then the trade unionist… I did not speak out.

Then the jews… I did not speak out.

And when they came for me, there was no body left to speak out for me.

And I enjoyed the peace and quite finally at last.

And now I can speak for myself.

(Anon)