Petals and leaves fall in an autumn faux,

Dreaming of a spring that will never grow,

Endless frost, waits for dew that never glows.

The twilight eternal, grips the shadow of the land’s soul,

Greatness, surely, came to them the first,

Who upon the path, had only tears to quench the thirst.

Liberty has lied, asleep in hearse,

A statue paraded in her place with flowing curls,

Attached at her side, a golden purse

Filled with those great coins of Others work;

From Emerald Isle to East of Rheine,

From Erytha Land to Erytha Man,

Greatness, surely, manifested for all.

And all the odes from the conqueror’s “partner,”

Surely tell, that Greatness, gave its part to her.

Now we cry for the preambled promise,

Hoping our dead fathers, shake in their grave

Stirring the earth to force Mictlan’s maw open,

Giving breath and air to a wind now honest.

But words from there, like air in pumice,

Sound hollow, only to die, in starless conquest.

That cave, as dark as Liberty’s Coffin,

Eats the light to hide the rotting.

Wolves oversee the chorus of baaing;

Sheeps in wolf fur cry out salvation,

They pledge allegiance, to Lie, our nation.

And the Great Dream, not dead, reveals

Its faces, beneath the statue’s mask

Look and see: nothing, nothing, nothing…