The social curiosity on display
A pound of flesh becomes the pray
I rather swing from the gallows,
Then be sold like a pound of beef
Fat and plump from all this wealth
Thy corpse displayed in this filth
Flies and maggots wait for thee
Justice is hungry for people of greed
Supply and demand shall decide my fate
Yes, a wealthy man, without a need
Burn thy flesh and cleanse thy soul,
Indeed, I was consumed by greed

Men, lock arms and dig in
Hoist the colors and hoist the flags
Today, we march across the bridge
Across the gorge, along the ridge
These men are brave and their faces glow
One by one, the soldiers know
Beat the kettles and blow the horns
Our clothes are ripped and the flags are torn
Today, we march across the bridge
Across the gorge, along the ridge
To the other side, we fight to win
Rations low and six hundred men
The bridge is high, and you feel the wind
No laughter here, but lonely grins
The span of the bridge and you feel its height
The long steel beams displays its might
The soldiers know, these men are right
We cross the bridge all day, all night

Claudius, I see your face in this lonely crowd
Your voice, as loud as the wind
Just listen to your soul, again

What dwells inside the sparrow’s heart
Today, I walk along the shores of tomorrow
Do not weep, my green-blue sparrow

Break bread again or this chance shall end
We dance between sweet earth and moon

If you drink nectar with the Greek Gods,
You shall achieve immortality
I think I hear the God Zeus chuckle

Thirsty blue sky, I shall not drink of thee

These wings have climbed stairs and clouds,
Achieving pure flight, in the silent wind

Claudius, I see your face in this crowd
Your voice again, as loud as the wind

My name is Don Quixote Del La Mancha.
I am a knight in the coat of arms
Give me a lance, give me a sword, and give me a steed
Where is the king in all of this?
I wear the Royal Spanish Crown and Gold Seal of San Fernando Levante
I solemnly swear that ***** and bounty shall rest with the king
Even the Catholic Church Christen me for a swift victory
I have signed and sealed orders to save the Princess Donesia Del Debosa
Then, I shall rescue her from the evil clutches of the windmill dragon
My chief architect, Poncho Sanchez is my right arm and canteen
He is responsible for fresh food rations, cold drinks, and other supplies
providing sustenance to our great adventure through the enchanted land of Spain. Even the sky clouds are shaped like windmills and blue dragons. Just pause for a moment and you can hear the sweet coronet horns played by the Spanish Royal Guards, along the way.
A gallant foot soldier is he, thus Poncho trails me like a Swiss Guard,
With his burro donkey friend, named El Donkey Camino Blanco
As we approach the last horizon of the day, the code of chivalry shall not die

No, heart, no brains, nor courage
Friends, Romans, Countrymen lend me your hears
Allow me to introduce the Queen of Truth
Your majesty, you are the fairness of them all
Such an honor to be your Lord Chancellor
Thus, I beckon your call
Your Highness and sweet gratefulness
I take great pleasure
In serving you, my lady
Indeed, I am at your service,
Day or night, and
Your wish is my command
your hieness
you are truth and beauty
I wish you longevity

When the lie is told

Where it creeps into your soul

When it grabs complete control

Thus, it breaks the souls of men

While leaving the scars of war

Upon our feet again

Thus when the lie is told

The hollow words of war resound,
Echoes of conflict, a haunting sound.
In rhetoric that masks the pain,
Empty promises that fall like rain.

Words wielded as weapons in the fight,
Masking truths in the shroud of night.
Battles waged with empty speech,
Leaving wounds that run too deep.

In the hollow words of war's cruel game,
Lies and deceptions fuel the flame.
Promises made but seldom kept,
Leaving a trail where hopes are swept.

Echoes of diplomacy gone astray,
In hollow words, truth fades away.
Amidst the chaos of discord's strife,
Hollow words carve the narrative of life.

Yet in the aftermath, where silence falls,
The weight of those hollow words recalls.
For in the wreckage where scars still sore,
The hollow words of war, forevermore.