This place is too public for an execution
They'll do it in closed board rooms
With pie charts and power points
The one they cannot reach through crucifixion
With a moist finger to the wind, testing ghost flight patterns
The one who takes off in t minus 10
Of edible grace, invisible friend
Has chosen the time of his own expiration
Not by scripture or tarot or revelation
The button down turncoats and Judas kings
They'll make their big move
He'll be pulling their strings
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