Benito’s Earlier Work

Blood and soil by any other name

It all turns out the same

But I'm immune

Benito's earlier work, a distinctly different tone

Than that of the grand buffoon marching his worms through Rome

What can we infer from such crossings of the floor?

I'm not sure it really matters anymore

Divination through the inspection of the entrails

Of a society gone completely off the rails

Optimal group size, scaling ratios suggest

What any goddamn half-wit could've guessed

My only remaining goal was to leave this world without

Actually killing someone, I find myself harbouring doubts

There's a Venn diagram emerging from the mist

I don't think you're gonna like what it suggests

Sometimes you must go too far

To find out where your boundaries are

You say that God has chosen you

Well, I've been busy choosing too

When your deceptions finally fail

We will inspect the remaining entrails

Narcissistic, Machiavellian

Sadistic, straight-up Orwellian

Stand back, let's have a look at you

The little Quisling that you've turned into

Blood and soil by any other name

You've weaponized your pain

Destined to fail from the start

As most catastrophes are

Ancient contagions exhumed

Turns out that no one's immune