Worship me you godless heathen
For your Gods, I have slain
I've broken the backs of rider and steed
And in your writhing pain, I've lain.
Tempest shall not tear my sail
For I am the tempest, foretold
Purify your minds with doves and boughs
Or agonise yourself in vain
Protaste before me you mewling sop
Your devotion I shall claim
With fear or faith, my strength to feed
And your piety I shall gain