Businesses of no tact in the protection of feted rituals soon fail

Rolling posters out for passion plays in the center of Manhattan
like a turtle eating a snake over the wake of an old feted prince.
Times that we do not bend into our seasonal occasions with tact,
but perplex the sand of 1983, delving nothing more than mascots.
This porridge rain, this silver colliding digested homegrown screen
promises wayward protections in the saturated, nominal rooms.
Employment shines its bothered light on you like a freight train.
God will not strain His/Her/Their eyes to protect gaslighting labor.
There will never be a way to leave God’s judgment as just a memory.
No course of action can prevent the fall of this corporate behavior.