The teeth of lions sown by the wind,
spurned by the salt of the Earth's
fallow and barren skin,
find fertile ground in me.
Rains of red poppies
burst from the blue.
Fireflies and harpies
beat their wings anew.
The wine from man's fountains
imparts courage to implore:
"Gods, step down from your mountains.
Fish, rise up from the shore."
For kings are few and we are legion,
flood the borders between all regions.
No blood spills blue torn from its vein.
All dissolves into the grain.
Incite the erosion of sleeping giants
so their slumber may forever last:
Their lies a fading remembrance of science past.
Rise, rise, rise...kill.
Seeds of revolution
sprout forests of stone.
The bricks of toppled castles
build me my palace,
mortared with sweat from your brow.
The crops reaped by my vassals
feed only my malice.
My hearth burns with golden boughs.
Sea, land, and air all fall to my glory.
May the earth bear my legacy.
But Time knows no human deeds,
as Nature knows no caste.
The winds sow forests of weeds
on graves of tyrants past.