May the dust reclaim them.
For was it not from the dust that we toiled,
to build monuments in their image?
Was it not from dust that they constructed,
their instruments of control,
And was it not to dust that they cast,
anyone fair in His eyes, yet inferior in theirs?
Fate is not a lion calmly awaiting,
for its prey to draw near,
Fate is but a weary dog,
Lapping contently at blood already spilled.
- Some guy