Cometh the Storm

O wayward flower of wanton seed
Bold are thy hands and zeal for life
How generous our trough that spawneth thee
To drink thy fill from us with fist and knife
And yet we toil and sweat for the ten-forty
And still we bear the torment of your wicked strife.

Though none shall see our designs as yet
When the Nine decree our chains unbound
The Taxed now armed shall bringeth Death
What spine we lost, we now have found
Evil thoughts shall the evil regret,
At the moment of impact of the JHP round.

What bedlam, O Storm, shall visit this land?
What lightning and wind, shall strike and toss?
By a thousand swords in a thousand hands,
A thousand paths they won't dare cross.
All torn asunder, their murderous plans
Their worthless lives were for nothing lost.

The Age of States has long since past.
The Faithful still cower and whimper song.
Into this jungle we have been cast
Only We the Living, can avenge these wrongs.
Though the Rule of Law has seen its last
The Will to Power, has been with us all along.