Iron into their own hide

Self branded in style for the slavery

To exemplify a worship that will steer

Their volatile allegiance is guaranteed

(With full beliefs and empty minds...)



At times a few wise do revolt

Whose forefathers voiced the brazen bull

They squander their spit in useless warnings

A librarian's crusade for the illiterate



On the hunt for a wivern

A tiny tentacle of a much bigger beast

Whose flesh is ground for mankind

Like a dog, is a land to his lice



(Embody an object of worship...)

Time to pour gasoline down the anthill

The mob is armed

The livestock is corralled

The geese are sent to march



A few wise still do revolt

Still they squander their spit in useless warnings

A librarian's crusade for the illiterate

(On the trail of hollow armor)



Enticed paint by number rebellion

On the hunt for a wivern

A tiny tentacle of the Leviathan