Take  up  your  arms;  there's  menace  among  us,

and  we,  we  are  it's  demise.

Deep  in  the  firs,  where  a  tyrant  abides,

we'll  make  our  abode.

Four  hundred  schemers  as  one,

and  a  titan  at  mercy

of  what's  deemed  must  be  done.

So  conceit  be  blinding,

and  guide  sightless  t'wards  peril  -  be.

Tree  needles  shake  like  the  terrified,

to  the  rumblings  of  colossal  gait;

Zipacna  arrives.

This  mighty  trunk  fell  before  you

causes  great  chagrin  for  lesser  men.

Lend  your  strength

and  we'll  suffer  the  snickering  arrogance,

as  beneath  soil  you  slip  from  our  coil.

Place  timber  below,

while  we  rain  ruin  on  your  form,

'til  in  the  mandibles  of  arthropods  remnants  rise,

and  we  rejoice  in  the  casualty.

Our  construct  complete,

as  our  home,  as  your  tombstone,

we  drink  to  the  damning  of  your  soul,

but  does  dirt  still  stir?

Might  the  mind  still  devise?

Crash  of  clamourous  chaos  splits  the  air,

which  we  so  swiftly  occupy,

raising  through  clouds,

through  heavens,  to  stars.

So  long  as  spirits  burn,

will  the  subterranean  eruption  of  he  haunt  we,

Pleiades.