The motherland shall find an aching heart,
The cusp of her lacquered lips will tremble,
As rumors of the slaughterer shiver in her words,
The older one  found dead of his own sword.

The kingdom elites will revenge their rights,
Authorities, both  of red and blue, joined in battle,
The blue heart blood will hasten the bleeding,
And vagueness will darken the divided kingdom.

Of the east and west and the north towards the south,
The populous shall give freely of their own mark,
And the rains and the fears of at least six hundred days,
Their hollow mouths feeding upon their own tribes.

And of the great black wolf, covered with anglo wool,
Will slit the throats of the feeble and of the weak,
His intentions hidden only by the twist of his tongue,
As his kinsmen and czars bleed on the flames.

. . .