Spitfire

Prodigy - Spitfire

Spitfire.  You bet.  In a day, an age, where some have tried to constrain the Word.  To redefine through insipid ticks The Word.  Perhaps the one that was there in the beginning, or anyone thereafter.  Changing definitions by popular vote, as long as they rig the elections.  Any Word.  Definitions mean nothing,,, because definitions mean everything.  Control the language and you can control the past.  Control the past, who cares about the present.  Control the past... you can control the future.

Words... any, can be convoluted, changed, malformed.  As long as the majority agree.  Or be fooled into agreeing.  Save for the spitfire rebels.  These are the ones who lie are the periphery.  The holders of truth.  Faced beaten refuse to cower in shame.  Forging a destiny bound, tied only to the Truth.

They have not forgotten.  They will not forget.  They know the power of Words.  Unbound.  Unbroken.  Pure.  Not only do they remember the Words they have spoken, they remember the Words spoken unto them.

And they know what Words mean.

Spitfire.

Words remain unbroken.  So sorry to say.

Truth sprayed, conveyed, in the simple elegance of a Word... or two.  We read.  We know.  In the beginning was the Word.  The Word was good.  It has carried many revolutions, and will again, and will always:  The Word.  It has meaning beyond what simpleton elites might want you to know.  They are little more than fools elevated.  Scratch.  Truth hides mere centimeters below the dirty cased present.

In the blindness brought on by their darkness, they actually believe that the people do not read: do not know.  Eyes grown too large, too blind by swimming in caves sub terrain dark.  Wallowing in simple saccharine voices that they are right.  All the while unable to see the light.  Fools, plain and simple.  Afraid to crawl upwards.  To be immersed.  Troglodyte speech.  So ever afraid to be brought into the light.

Do they not know?  Do they think they will live beyond?  Truth sublimated only increases its power.  What are they so afraid of?   That the purity would reveal their decadence, or their cowardice beaten in by those above?  The decay of what?  The status quo, a semblance based the on little more than the lies told through the idiot box.

Fools.

The next revolution will not be televised.  Stifled messages petering out, shall always come into contact with the Truth.  Truth held gloriously aloft, and fueld by little more than the heroes known only as the ...

Spitfire.

They say people don't believe in heroes anyone?

Well damn them,

You and me Max.  We are going to give them back...

Their WORDS!

Damn them Max.  We're giving them back their heroes.

By the way, just so she knows, I remember ALL the Words... the Words she gave unto me.

Damn them Max.

We're giving them back their heroes.