It is said that the Tree of Freedom must be watered with the blood of patriots.
We live in a world with no seasons.
A world with no boundaries being good and bad.
Right or wrong.
The vines of compromise must be watered with sacrifices of desire to meet the middle to help the greatest number of people.
Not the greatest number of money in the smallest of the population of the nation.
The thorns of empire grow when the masses are hungry. Focus what you want them to be angry for their hunger and you can kill anyone.
As long as the scraps of food are thrown down as the fiddler dances away towards the expansion of the empire.
The tree will indeed be feed with blood. It will be flowing gallons versus intermittent drops when comparing innocents of the other side. And a stream of lost souls in the military
Those that are lead into the trap of war. Never given the opportunity to leave or request to avoid war.
As one grows older they grow wiser. And seeing interesting new lands and watering the tree. Sometimes you want to have nothing to do with it.
Yet you will be thrown in to jail.
At least the king does not have to worry about it being lost. We have danced blindly for 17 years of warm following a long dusty path of generations before us.
The sheep pulling the cart up the hill of money the weathly the powerful so we can empty our pockets more as they shear us of our will of our protection that that grew out of what was best.
That is needed for the masters.
Walk along nation, we are no different than anyone else before us. March along to the tune of war of suffering of humiliated masses. Spat upon by the sheep as they climb the hill. Amazed they have now phones and tons of debt to blanket them with the warm embrace of consumerism.
The fiddler plays the tune of deception and spreads the grains of selfishness. We bloom into a civilized nation that kills for early morning specials the day after we are finally supposed to care about one another.
The fiddler is good at what he does.
He grabs a pile of money as he whips and scares the sheep up the hill faster and harder.
The tree will always grow.
There is never a drought when your sustenance comes from the blood of patriots.
The roots of war touch everything.
Image is from Thurneisser Series