The sustenance of old becomes the stench of failure. The crops rot in fallow fields before the factory. They blacken the blood and decay. Capricorn, you are born to feed. Capricorn, engineered for the masses.The pride of the worker, crushed under the wheels. The ritual of the hunter, now a smashed temple. The ever devouring doctrine, blesses the worm. Born of corporate ingenuity into the flow of currency. Worker, I have seen your wrinkled hands tied behind your back in copper and gold. Capricorn, I have seen the bloodstone laid before the womb of process, the Blight in the cornucopia, the gangrene on our hands. When our intake falls like a noose on our necks and the worker is gagged by the bill; when the earth is scorched for golden calves and the capital turns another head - this system will not last.