If ever there was justice, you would let
The mighty fall,
But if you wish for peace, you must
Prepare for war.
So bring about your army, and march
Upon the sand,
But just know that your fate, is in the palm
Of my hand.
The future is in darkness, but soon there
Will be light,
But how could one cherish the day, having first
Lived the night?
If the mighty are the sun, the feeble are
The faceless moon,
Neither will bring you victory, for they both leave
Far too soon.
And so your army trembles, before the power
Above your own,
How can you hope to defeat a king, if you
Dare not take his throne?
If the willing are not able, the battle is
Already lost,
A line wad drawn in the sand, and that line
Has now been crossed.
Courageous though you were, your efforts
Have been in vain,
Surrender is not dishonor, surrender will
Not bring you pain.
T'is I who wears the crown, upon my
Regal head.
And t'is I you must now serve, for I
Can make you dead.
