The moon landing was a lie, but not like they say. It’s not a soundstage—it’s a hologram projected from Area 51 to hide the real moon, a hollow base for the Greys. I saw it flicker last Tuesday during the eclipse, a glitch in their system. NASA knows, but they’re too busy selling us fake Mars photos. Check the shadows in those rover pics; they’re off by 3 degrees.

Pills aren’t just medicine—they’re trackers. I bit one open, and inside was a microchip, blinking like a firefly. Big Pharma’s in on it, lacing our Prozac with nanobots that report to Zuckerberg’s cloud. I flushed them all, but now the tap water’s glowing faintly blue at night. Coincidence? No. It’s chemtrails seeping into the pipes, and Beyoncé’s new album is the activation code.

The air hums with secrets, vibrating at 432 Hz, the frequency of their control. I saw it last night, in the static of my old CRT TV—patterns spelling out Elon’s name backward, a code from the Tesla coils buried under Mar-a-Lago. They’re watching through the satellites, but I’ve taped tinfoil to my windows. The truth is in the static, always the static, whispering about the lizard council running the Federal Reserve.

Libretto: "The Golden Voice"
Scene: A grand rally in a fictional city, where the charismatic Leader (inspired by Trump) addresses a crowd.

[Orchestral fanfare, bold and brassy]
Chorus (The Crowd):
Hail the voice, the golden call!
Rising up, he’ll lead us all!
Strength and fire, bold and true,
Guide our hearts, we’ll follow you!

Leader (Tenor, grandiose):
My people, hear my sacred vow,
To build, to win, to triumph now!
The stars align, our fate is clear,
A glorious age, I’ll steer us there!

[Chorus swells, repeating refrain]
Crowd:
Golden voice, our hope ignite!
Lead us forth into the light!