Sprinkled by the trappings Of words that make the outlines Blur on the showplace of made history The folk is willed To parrot the dished up tale The lure of a higher meaning
Cheat, you had to create An enemy stereotype To retrieve your absolution A forthy poor excuse for your foray To disengage the deeps Of your encumberance
March in with ten legions Whilst the crucial weapons not he pillum But the feather held in your hand Penned in blood Your tall tales rule the forum Altering it into the battlefield
I, the spectral guise Evoking these baring fears Pestering your conscript fathers I smile at my demise and while I die I cherish the roots of my perseverance
