To resume on where you left
Our home now a forlorn citadel,
The bloody fields you ceased
In your toil, a quest to sovereignty
Now belongs to the despot.
Our emancipator now our persecutor
The prophecy by Benjamin Henson
Clinched woe and is in prevalence
Patently the struggle will go on.
To reminisce the odd, hatemongers
The new and mutant foes drive us
To the precincts of the domains
And lures this black blood, sent
To the deeps and crags, places of distress.
The fruit now bored as the despot
Pails the yield, where are you
To rekindle the phrase
"My bones shall rise again? "