Something hasn’t just been stolen and it is not merely "democracy", or some other word that means little to Love, that has the power to give it back... My kind cannot steal Love; therefore Love has not been stolen. My kind's minds have been hijacked and holding the box-cutter to its own throat. My kind might choose to demolish the flesh and bone of children, but my kind cannot steal the Love that is born in them, it isn't for sale and it isn't for the taking. My kind can also choose to keep all of the things it has piled on top of the Love born inside of all living things and then scream about a love of some delusional freedom that has been and continues to be offered to only some of my kind some of the time, but not all of my kind all of the time. It has been a very long time in coming, this idea of freedom, this delusion of liberation from the shackles of fear, and it has arrived without my kind! My kind is allowing fear to conquer the will. It has arrive...
(The Weaver's Song)