Let not our humble Sacrifice be scorned by Heaven forever.
Iniquity, a Hot wind, your eyes blur with tears, Your home invaded.
The deluded find Delight in devastation; The lucid bring light.
Sinister somber Inquisitor sang, withered Minister crumpled.
Tread lightly lest you Rouse the ire of our own Ready made lynch mob.
We drove on and on into the desert, the sun setting behind the Bacatete mountains. Jon had explained that we were going to see his