Song of Atlantis

By Stanley Opmann


(Edit; Preface: Man kan om muligt få mere forståelse af digtet ved at læse f.eks. denne artikel som et bud på kontekst, derudover Graham Hancock's 'Magicians of the Gods'  -  og måske denne Civilisationens Sammenbrud før Gennembrud, nu hvor vi igen lever i en art potentiel præ-apokalyptisk Atlantis 2.0  arketype før apokalypsen og post-apokalypsen - Red. CN)

Let me tell you a story from which much can be learned today
Though its implications are hid under thousands of feet of clay
And the children of man have bred through hundreds of generations
Since the recounted events took place in long forgotten nations
Nought is translated from the Sumerian or from some mystic rune
All is deducted from reason neither signs in the stars nor the moon.

Let me take you back to Atlantis as it could and must have existed
Since the common historical narrative seems to have been twisted
By forces decidedly not too friendly towards the kindhearted man
Who could have lived in peace and bliss if not for this hidden hand
Representing our worthy ancestor paleo man as a kind of baboon
Merely grunting pounding his chest like an animal under the moon.

But the pseudo-paleolithic sky actually dawned on a civilized race
Spreading its pseudo-civilization with weaponry that would amaze
A twenty first century Pentagon general descendant of that same
Mind of hubris and entropy mixed with blunt celebration of fame
But on this morn of 10.000 BC in the Atlantean strategy room
The empire didn't matter much as they spied the paleo moon.

It was a late October dawn when the heavenly companion shook
By force of celestial hammers thought the ones who got a look
We now know a comet not the gods did the pounding in the sky
Though we still ignore the deeper reasons as to how and why
But on this early Atlantean morn a not so subtle feeling of doom
Filled the streets of the capital soon as they spied the stricken moon.

The prophets, yes they had prophets too, had spoken of this day:
The cosmic bank must cash in whenever its debtors do not pay
Their dividends for creative loans and borrowed life force itself
Has comets and asteroids on its well stocked cosmic solution shelf
But still on this fateful morn as they would prophesize and swoon
The hypnotized masses just hurried by beneath the waning moon

The whistleblowers (or whatever they blew on in that long gone eon)
Who sided with the Average Joe with the humbled the hungry the peon
Slaving as ever with sweat on his back ensnared by masterful tyrants
And with the everpresent hordes of refugees scapegoats and migrants
Were rotting away or ridiculed in a government sanctioned daily cartoon
Complete with paleo tin foil hats and laughable theories on the moon.

The rich were squeezing the poor as ever, but the poor did not realize
Scared as they were of the ghastly Athenians or some other bunch of lies
The external threat that always lurks led their weakened souls astray
In the hands of subtle manipulators their minds were all but clay
But on this morn of impending doom in the early dawning gloom
Some were starting to fathom now that something had hit the moon.

The semi-telepathic news broadcast with some kind of microwaves
Said there was nothing to worry about calming the minds of the slaves
So everyone hurried back to his job in the almighty arms industry
Back to the daily grind of preparing all kinds of crooked calamity
But on the weapon factory on this morn inside the death ray room
People were whispering anyway there were rumours about the moon.

The invisible pathocracy with the psychopath demigods dreaming
Of darkness lasting forever in an empty golden palace gleaming
Screaming the only sound you hear from its subterranean chambers
The minotaur at the center devouring friends alike and strangers
Were sipping their virgin breakfast blood all afresh from the tomb
And drifted towards that nothingness they sensed from the paleo moon.

The whispers increased as the cloud of debris rising from the crescent
Did not subside for hours and hours and the people soon assembled
In the circular wellordered streets to observe the following lucid show
Electric lights in the shimmering sky preceding the heavenly foe
In orbit around the planet to aim its brute force of overhead doom
On the Atlanteans who had just seen what it did in a flash to the moon.

The geese knew something wicked came as animals always do
Flapping frantically eastwards according to poles no longer true
They were to be lost like everyone else on the body of water known
As the Atlantic Ocean today, at that time the world renowned home
Of the mighty divine imperial order that was to be ruined so soon
By debris from the same celestial body that left its trace on the moon.

The sunset behind the mountaintops we now call the Faroe Isles
Was literally apocalyptic the plains that stretch beneath them for miles
Were drenched in psychedelic colours and the sparkling of the air
Made people dizzy or supercharged raised on their arms every hair
And it being autumn far up north the day had still only come to noon
But people now grasped the serious nature of the events on the moon.

Far down south in Poseidon’s town the wise people with a sense of pity
As opposed to the ruling psychos bewailed the doom coming to the city
And the fact that nobody ever listened and that none would forever more
Saddened their graceful hearts immensely to its innermost crystal core
But so it goes to mankind’s woe, the prophet will always be branded a
loon
And the same hysterical cycle repeats eternally endlessly under the
moon.

The bloodthirsty government cabal elite with its magical allseeing evil
eye 
Had foreknowledge of the impact to come and now said a smiling goodbye
To the country that had served them so well in power corruption and lust
Boarded their ancient astronaut ships and flew calmly away full of trust
That other countries of gullible humans would sure as it’s day by noon
Await them to be divided and ruled in the shade of the paleo moon.

The popular singers of the decadent city were crooning sweetly in bars
Full of the usual drunken punters and the fashionable Atlantean stars
Blooddrinking pseudo-humanists using their fame to spread all the lies
Of the ever corrupt politic elites wreaking havoc on people’s lives
But as afternoon was turning to night in the bars where they did croon
A cloud of celestial debris approached from the dark side of the moon.

The foreshocks of the impending impact were bursts of enormous power
All over the planet rained cosmic bullets of a deadly meteor shower
Some landed dug craters still to be seen but most did explode in the air
Shattered all glass (they had glass) and killed many who were there
But the massive rock that was sure to hit the North American glacier
soon
Made those little specks of comet dust look like minuscule slivers of
moon.

All over the world still today we can see those craters and circular
bays
Tourist attractions with swell marinas and packed full on sunny days
Little do modern plutocrats know that long gone millionaires died
On the very same shores (i.e. fields by then) before they even spied
The As Above So Below that was coming to end their existence soon
As they snuggled cosily on their verandas lit by the harvest moon.

Then at 6.66 PM (they counted the hours of day quite differently then)
The main body fell from dizzying heights instant-killing many good men
(And as many bad ones probably so) in a radius of one thousand miles
From the impact in present Canada they were heaped in enormous piles
By the shockwave of brimstone and fire so much stronger than a typhoon
& in the few seconds it took to reach them they knew what befell the
moon.

Ice steppes of flashfrozen human meat vacuum packed by the pressure
Together with saber-toothed cats & mammoths levelled at nature’s leisure
With resin of hemp intact in their stomachs still exist in the far north
west 
Proving that such cataclysmic events are as regular almost as royal
incest
A clockwork-like cosmic harvest probably now again to be scheduled soon
Like in the gnostic tale of the archons where dead souls go to the moon.

But the story that would be told by the lucky / unlucky ones who
survived
Was about the tsunamis rolling forth and the countless millions who died
On the Atlantean continent / island that broke up shaking in several
parts
As the first quake struck with a magnitude old Richter will not even
start
To describe with his rather limited scale since it wasn't designed for a
doom
Of the order or quality of this event that followed the one on the moon.

On the west coast of mighty Atlantis facing the current Caribbean
islands
& the sea and the gulf behind them which at that time were partly
dry-lands
The gigantic wave reached a height that peaked at incredible 900 metres
Massive wetwall replaced by the impact consisting of trillions of litres
Of sulfuric now and salty sea water towering skyhigh to claim its boon
All the Atlantean mid-ocean plateau the richest country under the moon.

The wave that swept Atlantis away and rolled halfway around the globe
Was simultaneously blessed & damned in equal measure symbol of hope
And the pitch black hole of hellish despair we know now as The Deluge
Destroyed the lives of millions but others found both respite and refuge
Improving vastly their lives no longer victims of a selfserving goon
The evil empire island invisible even now in the light of the moon.

Countless Noahs of various colours sailed away in their countless arks
Many a hero capsized in whirlpools and died picked apart by sharks
The legends of the celestial arrow the cosmic-electric projectile hurled
Raising hell and high water all over the unsuspecting miserable world
And the tales about the Leviathans caught by Utnapishtim’s harpoon
Changed from hand to mouth and with every single phase of the moon.

Fewer Noahs of strict dispositions lived through the gruesome ordeal
Many an ark of inferior timber splintered asunder from rudder to keel
On the crest of a skyhigh wave of doom crashed to the valley of death
Drowning in blood red oceans of panic suffocating spirit and breath
But after the rolling of seas had settled a few hit upon some dune
Saved from deluge and comet but left in a landscape alike the moon

The cultures furthest away from the impact and from the Atlantean axis
Were consequentially best positioned to take over from the fanatics
Now that the geopolitical landscape had changed in a night and a day
But pathological minds were lurking and others were on their way
Ever looking to sell more lies and hypocricy from their sugared spoon
To anyone who was buying or blinking or lost in a night without moon.

Natural life thrived briefly meanwhile the psychos were gathering forces
The natural life endowed by the spirit that flora and fauna endorses
That way of living sustainably limiting all material aspects to meet
The criteria of necessity calling for all to receive according to need
But the crystallizations of malice lingers in the human genetic strewn
Waiting but to become active again like the werewolf during full moon.

They reappeared in Egypt and Sumer when the time was finally right
All-seing assholes as always all-conquering under the motto Divide
Suddenly the lands were split in an upper and lower riverside part
Co-ops and unions dissolved as darkness evolved and evil did start
The eternal external enemy song, its tried and tested pied piper tune
Ringing so shrill in all ears still after so many turns of the moon.

Their secret seafaring new world order came in ships with sails and oars
Left coded messages everywhere like the equestrian statue on the Azores
From Easter Island to both Americas Mohenjo-daro Byblos and Tyre
They laid the cornerstone in the temple honouring egoistic desire
Fashioned religions like sculptors fashion their clay molds with a spoon
And made damn sure that nothing changed the going-ons under the moon.

The rest is history as they say though still so much more than that
New tactics of dominance finetuned new games of mouse and cat
But strictly adhering to the Atlantean heritage that was bestowed
It’s sunny days on the pyramid’s top and rain on the miserable road
The majority of goosestepping slaves march on to their cyclical doom
In the almost invisible post-modern light of the everpresent moon.