Stand O King, amidst the hoard, drop your face, your shield, your sword. Draw a longer night for two, dance in pheromone candle hue. Scent and wring the shadow long, twist her limbs about yours strong, carry her sweet, carry her wrong, but stand O King! Stand!
Sing O siren, sing in chaste, scowl the horrid haggard face of time in etch upon the scene, drive a tear, a drop be seen. Cast the spell of hopelessness, sort the weak from what’s confessed and Sing O siren! Sing!
Stand O courage to what prevails, stand against the cries and wails of wanton, death and plunder, stand to rend the hate asunder, burn the last of love from you, but stand O courage, stand! Fight true!
Weep O mother, cry what comes, know the son you love is gone. Mourn in silent deafened sobs, deny the jeers, deny the mobs a single hint of fear. Weep O mother dear.
Come O mercy beyond this day! Peace be granted, let some hope stay and find the simple tinker, smile on the lane, drive the sunshine, push the rain, but come O mercy! Defy this pain!
Write O poet, bard’s tale be known of how a hatred here was sown. Draw your ink in blotted haste, and from it pour a lay that tastes of love and courage, fear renounced, of battles won and hatred trounced. Sear the wetted tear drop tracks and sounds of mothers’ weeping slack. Draw lovers spirit lost at night, and courage to overcome with might by just a handful of free men left, cast the horrid face of death, but write O poet! Write!