And so the rain fell
over the cadence
The effervescence of the scene so polluted
It seemed the magistrate held so little in corruption
The sound seemingly of strings strung taught and broken on
pluck
However so slightly, seemingly he beheld, the glimmer of the
nighttime whispered,
“Come into the realm of freedom and dynasty
Wherefore the innocent hail guilty and the rich sire the
poor.
In which has set the bitter taste of originality
Hitherto blunder that with which the Mighty Hand severed.
Cloth to tomb, the lies of the deceitful ring only true to
the perverse,
In yet the simplest circumstances it revealed unto no one in
the middle of the square:
Upon this block is built ruins of the faith, keepers of the
fallen.
It is here that which may lay the foundation to our
coronation of the unknown,
Casting out the intelligence of the consummates and
rejecting the sense.
It shall rain the evilest power unto them,
Drenching those “holy” and “majestic” until the world is
truly as it was before:
A home of those to flesh and blood and to nothing of pride.”
The siren sang the muffled words to the worlds of the
highest on low,
The birds that proclaimed lay dead at the passing with
glorified feathers behind them.
Yet of those who saw no change, no disturbance,
It were they that shall enrapture and toss over the throne,
To reclaim the world once belonging to those whom perturbance
once began.
