Sisyphus pushes his
rock up hill
While Atlas bears his
load.
Damned by the ire of capricious
gods,
Forced down a toilsome road.
And so it is with the gods
of thrill
Who trap and hold you
fast
With opioids and images,
Perniciously
unsurpassed!
Beware the promise of
wealth or skill
Contained in a bottle brown.
Hold to the rod of
simple truth
Lest you be taken
down!
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