Voice of the Revolution

The depth of death lies with thee and thy lord;
spring of doom held in caress and sorrow.
I weep for day, I weep for the narrow,
and every morning shine the lord’s dark swords.
Strumming the cries of a hundred raged hordes,
our song almost sung, our tunes on arrow,
with voices here today, gone tomorrow —
yet ye fail to heed our resounding chords.
Thy scorn and hatred returned and received:
A warring nation is caught in despair.
Unrest we trample, unrest we havoc!
‘Til thy lord recast fate of the deceived
And the lies of cretins and rags lay bare,
Wild is the day, and at night run amok.