Old tomes of retribute
lie impotent and mute.
Their sycophants rebel—
draw coins from the wishing well.
If this is fortune, will it buy me peace?
If this is freedom, where is my release?
Are you the chosen few?
So it was said is true.
heads down in the greenery.
If this is reason, will it make me wise?
If this is certain, why not for my eyes?
God’s country might survive
when no man stands alive.
Evaluate your worth:
red blood spilled upon the Earth.
If this is malice, why is it divine?
If this is justice, why is it unkind?
Diana, stretch your bow.
Those for your arrows go
fear not the fading moon—
they too will be fading soon.