Our roots we cannot prune

A specter in our eyes, the omniscience of its nature,


We suspire for the sake of supererogation.


Mislaid in jurisdiction and


Usurped in competency,


Fundamentals fracturing beyond digression now,


How are we to fortify our ground?


The links lost in liminal whereabouts,


A tapering corridor so familiar; malefic monstrosity,


The monochromatic yellows are falling into her hands, and the paint is




Never will there be a time


Never will we brawl against a presence who eradicates our liberty


Unification. Astuteness.


But the eye of the world is spinning her into dismay


And she’ll escape the collapse’s suppression spiritless.


The eye of her beasts remains dynamical, for no deliverance can reorient the damage.


Inevitability by the imbellic,


Our basis for a stance crumbled at the conception of its domain.


Spitfire the conflagration—


Go ahead, employ the soldiers with the same thickness as the pious center.


How jaded it has become creating a


Genesis for you, but this is principle for her and


What the eye decides to eliminate—


Her somber attitude shields the sniping discharge.


Prepare the vigorous weapons, and excise amour prope before continuing an atrocity.


Oh, she is not done yet


And her fight will be more than enough to plunder your infantry.


Que la bataille commence—let the fight begin.