These gifted among fields wearing a strapped on wooden beak. The others nodded. A new holiday for the fifth season. He that hath me spring and summer, in Suspension cities. "I heard the voice book, Lion of the book talks like a man". And I remember seven mountains. Watching them from the round window of my cell in the suspension city. Tall jagged mountains said to be the thrones of long-dead gods. And I beheld, delicate and sensitive merchandise. Fine things crafted by Elvin hands on the dark side of the moon. Biscuits baked with the nectar of the eon flower.
Gushing of abominations worship him that, Primal Analog Forbidden beast voice. Fucking in a dark of God sent blasphemy, walk in it. Blind sex with rubber gelatinous beings. Gouts of foul-smelling cum drags the breeze. Dead bodies of Men who did not survive the ritual under walking feet. This for decades-long weednaps. Twenty-thirty years in a stoned sleep. Awake one midnight alone in the field, miles from the nearest small town. Get up and walk, there's nothing else to be done now. Holy, holy, LORD trumpet. A fanfare that shreds the hills. The villagers cower under a rain of frogs. Workers go hungry, replaced by cogs. Townsfolk marched away at gunpoint, the city devours another town.
Strange variations of religions go on crusades to smight the sinners in other towns. the differences between themes get more extreme over time. The kids chalk the sidewalks with strange new sigals, the images of new gods not yet known to the adults.