Upon approach, with facts and all,
You've brought with you a righteous haul,
In step, a dance of victory,
To spite the guilds of history

"A crucifix is ****** to fail,
If Honor's face is blue and pale",
You lie to string the vengeful gale of providence,
Along your trail

Behind your foot, a lagging force of gravity,
As if a horse, compels itself to gallivant in misery,
When no reproach is cast on he,
Who shields himself from revelry

Strike your fields with rusted scythe,
Convinced, your crops now take their life,
In what seems as though a winter fair,
Alas, your fruit is torn and bare,
Again...