Husks bled dry by the sun spear.
Hail to the men washed clean by grief.
They stand swearing alliegance to the History wind
standing in their fleets with a Heartfist, singing Hymns,
They gather to burn Pyres - evoke gods on their coins,
Give gods nick-names like Baal and simerimus,
They drift in the mist,
Staking myths from the spoils.
Hail to the dead of the Fenix fire tamed.
Men of tin, Frankinscense, and
Genoa rejuvenated, flesh burning all
the time and it's pie squared.
Author notes
This is a throwaway. What the hell.
Written April 20th, 2006
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