68 lines
3.6 KiB
Plaintext
68 lines
3.6 KiB
Plaintext
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cDc communications
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presents...
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_ _
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((___))
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[ x x ]
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xXx \ / xXx
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(` ')
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(U)
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T H E P R O P H E C Y O F C O W
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Recorded by High Priest and Scribe,
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Franken Gibe
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_______________________________________________________________________________
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Listen! The thunderhead of The Coming reins her fierce lightning steeds.
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The Prophecy is thine own. Take to heart what shall be, when nations' eyes
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shall turn toward Cow, a hundred million eyes fixed, a hundred million ears
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shrinking from the infernal Blast.
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Moonlight's world shall fall to decay, putrid with the rot of complacency.
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A chosen few shall safeguard the Cow Song, harbor all that is eternal against
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the blight of relativism, the self-indulgence of apathetic humankind. It is
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the course of the Bovine that these few shall multiply, and their message
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shall take the form of a federation, a Cult. Cow shall be a living memory.
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From three shall be ten, from ten, hundreds. Here the Prophecy begins...
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* * *
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Thrice sun's setting, then dawn. I see an eighth day, russet heat. It is
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the dawn of suburbia, mown fresh and green, black-cored and sinister. From
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this day night shall ever be vanquished. It is the Day of Cow. The Day of the
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Rebirth. Unspeakable visions I see, visions of color and sound, hoof beat and
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udder's fecund milk. Two of the Bovine Legion shall rule the eternal Day, two
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shall survive the death of Night. On that first dawn of the New Age, the
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birthday of the new order, Cow will come again.
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In the barren field of the barren age, the Old Age, in the field of
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corpses and skulls, I see a Prophet. He shall be versed in the saga of Cow,
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familiar in the Ways of Bovinia. And lo, the crimson field shudders beneath
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the taint of a thousand crumbling empires, kingdoms of corruption, and the
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barren field vomits steaming geysers of blood. In the midst of this maelstrom
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of death, the climax of centuries of despair, I see the Prophet raise his
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limber arms, and as if orchestrating Second Creation, the field is quieted, the
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skies churn slow and calm. Oh, unspeakable and ineffable! Oh, prophecy and
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legend, Earth has shed tears of blood, seas of blood for thee. Lo, the Prophet
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of the field drops to his knees, & behold, the fallow field is rent asunder.
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And from the awful rift emerges a deep, deep tenor, a staccato bellow which
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strikes deaf the unprepared ear. It is the Bellow of the Cow Reborn, the
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trumpet of victory which heralds in the New Age, the Age of the Bovine. This is
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the Legend, this is the Prophecy marvelous and momentous.
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Emotion chokes words, and begs of them undue function. Yet have I
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endeavored to write what should remain unwritten, to prophesy that which is the
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stuff of nightmares. Humanity, beware! For now Cow sleeps, but dawn approaches. The Awakening is near.
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_______________________________________________________________________________
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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(c)1988 cDc communications by Franken Gibe
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On this, the 13th Day of the Sixth Month-56
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