I.B If he had been crowned, Hell would have cried The forces of evil Had gathered at night by the vale of the city shrouded by dark he had been named and the herald had cried the stillness of his name a campaign had sired who told me? They ask It was a little bird That sang songs Said I On the rainy day That the old king had died I sat on a wicker chair And prepared me to cry Afore the tear did fall Or the brine splash the ground Before the leaves did swish In their sing-song to mourn Before the sun got dim As she counted the lost With the velocity of the ingredients of words I heard me that report That encapsulated the call for war A lesson for me A new quest for some It had been gold But here is a new reason to war It had been blood But that is versed up in lore Power has spilt blood from the days of yore But is it only the treasure chest that causes men’s blood to spurt Or is there yet a cause for the everbubbling spring of war I ask, will you now share, a throne to which you are heir Or sharest thou with me a portion of your ration of air? But the kingmaker ,old and tired knew who he must attire but because he had no part of the crown to acquire, He watched on and indeed hindered. Blood is thicker than water It runs deeper And Heaven never in defeat lets out a sigh, Hell will cry Vicdugavi Vencedor
Posted on: Thu, 12 Sep 2013 08:37:39 +0000
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