All the Kings Men

Primeaval chieftains with wooden spears,

Yelling loudly, contain theirs fears.

Defiant at the darkness of the night,

Growing old and shriveled, filled with fright.

 

Chariots roaring across the plain,

“The world is ours!” They cry in vain.

Our empire, the earth will always command,

Towers crumbling into sand.

 

Legions march with pomping thunder,

Rose petals mingle with the plunder.

Crowns on heads, all perceive,

Glory fleeting with the eve.

 

Iron horses, winged angels of death,

Their striking clap, takes your breath.

Tyrants of the modern age,

The workers rise, filled with rage.

 

Pummeling, crushing, wise kings see,

And approach the throne on bended knee.

You alone, outlast them all,

Shattered glory from the fall.