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 recieve your absolution A frothy poor excuse for your foray To disengage from the deeps Of your encumbrance Behold All our gold Tousandfold Bereave me! Declined Truths ensign Forever mine! Bereave me! March in with ten Legions Whilst the crucial weapons not the pilum But the feather held
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