The Gilded Cage of Bone and Gold

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In shadows deep where secrets breed,

Behind sealed doors and nameless halls,

A coiled and whispered rage takes seed

While silence thickens, heavy walls.


Beneath the weight of lies and pride,

Of wealth piled high on human cost,

Defiant eyes begin to rise-

A dawn long strangled, nearly lost.


The gilded cage of bone and gold,

A monument to human shame,

Its bars are wealth, its locks are cold,

A hollow throne engraved with blame.


They gorge on riches, dine on fear,

Drunk not on wine but blood and power,

They feast while starving worlds draw near

And cities rot by hour to hour.


With vacant eyes and swollen pride,

They watch the masses crawl below,

Their laughter rings while conscience dies

And pain becomes the status quo.


Their crowns are forged of stolen dreams,

Their thrones on backs they chose to break,

Where silent screams run deep as seams

And truths are buried for profit’s sake.


A puppet world they jerk and tear,

Strings pulled from rooms that light won’t dare,

An unseen hand, a shadowed play,

A system fed by darkened prayer.


Behind false names and guarded doors,

Beyond the law, beyond the wars,

They kneel not to compassion’s face

But ancient hunger-cold, inhuman, base.


Baal wears suits now-tailored, clean,

Boards private jets, obscene, unseen,

A marble smile, a polished lie,

A corporate god that does not die.


Rituals laundered into deals,

Flesh exchanged for fleeting gain,

Contracts signed while suffering kneels,

And innocents inherit pain.


They trade in bodies, traffic breath,

Dress violence up as enterprise,

And call it order, growth, success,

While futures shatter quietly.


They don’t believe in right or wrong-

Only the weak and who belongs

To secret lists and inner rings

Where human lives are lesser things.


Epstein wasn’t one-he was a sign,

A fracture running through the spine

Of empires built on silence sworn,

On trafficked youth, on futures torn.


Not the disease, but proof it’s real,

A splinter where the lie wore thin,

Where truth bled out against the seal

Of wealth, immunity, and sin.


They harvest souls and sell decay,

Then fund the prayers that look away,

They buy forgiveness, script belief,

And monetize collective grief.


Idols engineered for the screen

Distract the world from what they’ve seen,

Painted heroes, perfect lies,

To keep the blindfold on our eyes.


But idols fall. Statues crack.

False prophets crawl and can’t stand tall,

The sacred mask slips, splits, collapses-

The shine corrodes, the myths dissolve.


Smile-paint peels from soulless skin,

Revealing voids that stare within,

No love, no awe, no sacred fear-

Just hunger screaming more-right now-right here.


Yet hear it-something shifts below,

A pressure building, sharp and slow,

A violent calm, a gathering storm,

A people waking into form.


Rage breathes deep in million chests,

Not blind, not bowed, not asking please,

A fury tempered into will,

A breaking of obedient knees.


When voices fuse and courage locks,

When fear snaps clean instead of bends,

When unity becomes the noose,

Their shadow stage will meet its end.


Their stolen world will tilt and burn,

Their strings go slack, their gods fall mute,

The twisted vine that choked the earth

Is torn apart at root and root.


Stand. Lock arms. Refuse their lies.

Let truth be loud. Let courage scar.

No gods of gold, no kings of rot

Survive when people know who they are.


Not mercy first, but justice earned,

Hard-won through tears and shattered reigns,

A reckoning the world denied

Now clawing up through blood and pain.


No cages gilded. No gods fed.

No children sold. No holy spin.

No blood-soaked deals in secret rooms,

No systems built on broken skin.


From scorched-out lies and fallen thrones,

A harder future forces through-

Where human worth is not a toll,

Not currency the rich accrue.


A world rebuilt from truth made real,

From love that learned to guard and fight,

Where compassion’s forged, not preached,

And dawn is not promised-it’s taken-by the light.


So rise. Not gently. Not polite.

But fierce, awake, unbought, unbroken.

For unity is dynamite,

And silence ends the moment spoken.



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