Deus Calls it Blasphemy

As to the people, sleep seems their chosen circumstance,
Their luxuries, on condition that their eyelids are sewn and senses sheared,
And if forced to a little waking time,
Quickly, their faith invested in pomanders and nosegays,
Since Deus calls it blasphemy to even notice dirt.
Beggars are one thing,
They also recoil from the dead,
They tense and tighten as if they could, at a moment,
Be leapt at, grabbed, dragged down.

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