Freitag, 25. März 2011

Withering the ursurper´s throne

I saw a flaming circle in the sky,
A hundred thousand people burn and cry,
I saw the wave withdraw away,
A hundred thousand corpses unburied
By earth and fire, by stone and mire
Borne away.

Sakura season no watchers will find,
Empty the temples, empty the huts,
Raped and torn both maiden and slut,
From mountains of soot echoes no laughter.

Doom is the season cast upon the land,
After the rain, after the storm
No calm will follow.
And still they fight in every land
For words and deeds long done.

With gun in hand, with sword and pen,
With clubs and axes from money forged,
With flint, with bone,
With claw  and tooth and broken stone.

Then let there be war, if it can´t be peace.
The wolf broke free,
Deep down the growl arises;
The dwarves´cord´s askew.
Will doom be and succeed
To make the world anew?

The warlord, he, one-handed,
Descends upon the earth.
Cursed is the seed of mankind,
Cursed this generation´s birth.
And wind blows hard,
And waves arise,
The earth it shakes in fever.

The thrones of gods they claimed
Are  not made to sit on longer,
For the greedy, for the maimed
By grey clawed maggots`envy.

Beyond the ruins stands a tree
With burned and ravaged leaves.
But in a gentle, silent breeze
A simple cherry blossom falls.

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