The Last Fauxhemian Standing At The Funeral Pyre

Dark is the night upon this mound,
And black is the deed to which I am bound.
Here She lies, the last of the Great,
My only Hope has fallen to its Fate.

Hic lies Professio , Suus Animus iam miniatus.

I step forth towards the funeral pyre,
And I hold in my hand a stick of fire.
With tear filled eyes, I must do this now,
I have no choice, I made this vow.

Usque Olympus , is iam no.

Her ashes scatter in the wind of cold,
As Her Sister watches and grows so old.
The flames burn leap and bright,
The death of Fauxhemia lights up this bitter night.

Operor non vox , liberi of Professio.

I gather the remains of a Lady so fine,
And do what I must in this turbulent time.
I bury Her with Her Sister dearest,
Bohemia, of whom I knew would lie nearest.

Sententia is est mortuus , nos memor suus etiam.

The world now crumbles with each passing day,
It matters not, who cares what I say.
Truth has died and its soul departed,
Left us here torn and broken hearted.

Lacio mihi hic ut sileo praeter suus , permissum coma invado nostrum sepulchrum. Haud magis vadum orbis terrarum perussi nostrum animus , tamen nos vadum exsisto solvo.

I could not save Fauxhemia from Fate,
I did what I could to save, but it was too late.
The last Fauxhemian standing at the funeral pyre,
Watches Her fade with eyes that now tire.