Pray for a baptism and the heavens will send you fire,
a drenching pain dissolving the bonds that bind one people to another.
Leaving behind a flurry gray of ash and molten mire.
A dirge writ with Destiny as hidden author.
Played for this, fifth or sixth, neo-Roman Empire
We are shouted at too demure,
We are told that we are too pure,
So much Freedom, to endure.
A knock, a bullet, an unnumbered flight,
the remnants not to come to light.
An election by election,
decision by decision,
This becomes some less perfect union,
as those who made it rebel,
and call the country they have made a hell.
Deeper into the darkness we descend,
farther into the mountains we cannot defend,
further into the night that does not end,
scourging hurts we will not mend.
Tortured tangled maimed and bloody sulk,
Behind once a country, to be reborn a twisted hulk.