He who sat weeping with insanity in his hands,
Holding not a single strand of that desperation and melancholy that was there before,
Wings unfurled and brains bashed open,
Hold your madness at bay while the tides approach in radio waves,
Not once feigning surprise at the endless maw that opened when your eyes saw truth,
As your moonstruck face bellowed fear and anger
Striking the sphinx, which appeared when it sunk too deep
Not wanting to hear of untold legion and endless war.
Hold your head high,
You who had the best of yourself strewn on the streets of your youth,
Bastardized and culled into a submission of nothingness,
Glorious phoenix of ashen design.