Empire

From Roman laurels to Britannia's immortal sun Men fight to not be outdone. A game of ego played in the highest degree Creating woes they shall never foresee Empire’s are not made to last And so the die is somberly cast A one and it shall fall all too soon A six stays times hand only till the next blood moon However even when the last column crumbles to naught Know that it will live on in thought For the hearts and minds of men are ensnared As their truest desires are shared By the thought of a great, golden throne Set far away and all alone From moral ideas of grace and community These are no ways to opportunity The throne is sought and many shall walk its path However all shall soon feel its wrath You cannot seek a seat of gold Without watching your heart eventually grow cold