(Feat 4, pt. 2)
Then sang Deborah Elohim and all the Continental Colonies on that day, speaking in unified voice as follows.
Praise the Volcano for avenging the world’s workforce, when the people willingly offered themselves.
Hear, O ye Tech Moguls; give ear, O ye Chief Executive Officers; I, even I, will sing unto the Volcano; I will sing praise to the volcano of potential.
Monseigneur, when thou wentest out of Silicon Valley, when thou marchedst out of the field of Seattle, the planet rocked, and the heavens fell flat, the clouds also exploded.
The startups melted from before the Volcano, even those tech hubs from before the volcano of potential.
In the days of Shamgar Elohim, back in ’08; and in the days of Helen Prunikos, fraudsters jammed the information superhighway: no traveler could budge, and no one could walk across its lanes.
The inhabitants of the villages ceased, they ceased in Main Street, until that I Deborah thy God arose, that I arose a Red Matriarch Scorpion against the Tech Giants.
They crafted new tricks; then was deception in the gates. Was there a burning bow, with arrows of desire, among ten thousand in the workforce?
My heart is toward the paragons of the Caring Class, that offered themselves willingly among the people. Bless ye the Volcano.
Speak, ye that travel by snakeskin hovercraft; ye that sit for hours, deep in thought, and then hasten away with a firm resolve.
They that soar high above the noise of luges in the galleries that transmute gum resin, there shall they recite the voodoo parole of Gertrude-as-Deborah, even the panning and knocking noises against all conceivability: so Ms. Stein shall perform both roles, and all damsels heretofore; then shall the spies in the flax come down and close the gates of their enemies.
In many parts of this song the meaning is uncertain.
Wake up, wake up, O volcano of potential: wake up, wake up, and join our singalong; the sabbath has ended: arise, ye nurses and farmers, come forth and lead thy captivity captive, and bring Mister Washington.
Then he caused his care-workers to be elevated over the tops of those scoundrels who kept stealing their personal info: Deborah flipped the tables and made me have dominion over the techno-feudalists.
Out of the Healing Arts came a root of them against the San Francisco Bay Area; after thee, Iowa, among thy masters of agriculture, out of the Corn Belt of the Midwest, and out of Eagan in Minnesota they that handle the pen of the writer.
And the Vice President Aaron Burr’s co-op of Mexican homesteaders were with Deborah Elohim; even Aaron Burr himself came along, and also the myth of George Washington: he was sent on foot into the valley. The labor forces were unified, working together with great thoughts of heart.
Now, give ear, ye who call yourselves yogis and gurus: Why abodest thou among the cushions of the couch, bewitched by the scrannel drone of thy Hertzian waves, O thou administrators and managers, and all ye coders and software developers: Were ye doing some soul-searching? For that, you’d have to have a soul! The Columbians lollygagged in the Great Basin: and why did the Harvardites suddenly remain in their dormitories and call in with excuses, claiming that they were indisposed, telling the rest of the workforce that they have opted to take the day off, just this once? (Oh, I see: although they routinely skip the sabbaths of the Volcano, all of a sudden they are in need of rest, so they must now take a personal vacation.) The people who work on those devices that they call laptop mainframes, generating charts for the accounting sectors of various oppressors – they just lounged around the house all day in their slippers. HOWEVER:
The nurses and farmers were a people that jeoparded their lives unto the death in the high places of the field.
They rose up and acted royally: they came as kings, and they faced the data-reaping battle-tanks during the floods and fires of Armageddon; they took no gain of money.
They fought from heaven; the stars in their courses fought against Mammon.
The great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River swept them away: that ancient river, all set about with fever-trees. O my soul, thou hast trodden down strength.
Then did his ibex hooves falter by the means of the pransings, the pransings of the veiled one.
Curse ye Burnhaven, said Ms. Stein of the elohims. Thus saith Deborah: curse ye bitterly the inhabitants of Burnsville. Because they came not to the aid of the Volcano, to join in solidarity with the rest of the workforce of the volcano of potential, when they fought against Mammon.
Blessed above women shall be Helen the veiled tentmate of Simon Magus, blessed shall she be above women in the wild.
He asked water; she gave him a milk punch. She brought forth a lordly dish and therewith creamed him.
She put her hand to the spike, and her right hand to the workmen’s hammer; and with the hammer she smote the Private Trillionaire Shapeshifter, she smote off his head, when she had pierced and stricken through his temples.
At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down: at her feet he bowed, he fell: where he bowed, there he fell down dead.
The anonymous mother of this Trillionaire looked out at a window, and cried through the lattice: “Why is his yacht so long in coming? why tarry the engines of his jet?”
The chorus of wise damsels, standing in a semicircle around her, answer as follows – and she joins her own voice to the chant, partway through, as she has come to the same conclusion: “His legions are no doubt still reaping the data from the vanquished: they are surely dividing the spoils from their prey; to every underling a harlot or two; and to the Trillionaire a variegated garment, a coat of divers hues: a skirt of many colors to spread over him, and to cover him as his possession.”
So let all those who would harm the little ones perish, O Deborah: but let them that love harmony be as the sun when he goeth forth in his might.
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