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
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