POET: Of my heart, I desire you.
TRUTH: Let me touch your eyes.
POET: I see a dark cloud covering the earth, Eating up the sunlight of the world. I hear a distant thunder. At which my flesh shudders.
TRUTH: The groans of the poor.
POET: I see a monster.
His feet are of gold ; his hands are of gold ; Golden is his head ; his legs are golden ; But his heart is of clay. His eyes are red as rubies, And his golden hands are folded upon his swollen belly,
which is of gold ; Into his open maw flows an endless procession: Men with gray faces ; women with sunken eyes, And the little children who have never laughed.
TRUTH: Moloch insatiable!
POET: He sits upon a crimson pedestal.
TRUTH: The blood of men.
POET: It rests upon a great darkness.
TRUTH: The Soul of Man.
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