Were they not reliable, the winds when they came
Was it not sadness they felt, when the tribes lost a name
(Amidst the rubble and ash,
he vivaciously spills his cash)
Was it not atonement swept across the crowd
Were their heads not solemn when they bowed
(A city in mourning,
strategic forewarning)
Did the music not play at low volumes in the eve
Did the stories of the past not eventually interweave
(He stands atop an empire so vast
realising now that his time has passed)
Do you not feel great elation that the town now lays dead
Do you not thank them kindly that you were allowed to be mislead
(Ah, but a story never ends with the champion
merely fertilised soil for the blooming rampion)