It was decimation for the riches
A scorched land, a red sea
As you bask in your sanctity
Corpses lay in the ditches 
Leave them to bury their dead
And rot in their plague
With one loaf of bread
It is their last day
But you will not see that here
A land of fine assortment
With marble bathhouses and the finest bier
Ye beasts of comportment
But tis’ how it goes
The soldiers are hungry and restless
Each an amalgam of the deathless
They march where your wind blows
These foreign lands suffer for your decadence
For your greed, for your pride
Whatever you wish is what holds precedence
For this reason is why they died
Not enough gold bank teller?
Is madam’s silk not soft enough?
I’ve been a wasteland dweller
Because of my truth, they come to put me in cuffs
Off to jail with the likes of me 
I’ll go to rot
For the words I brought
While you all feast from your olive tree!