Airships abound
For the sands are for the weak
Wardrobe cases fill the cargo hold
As the one-eyed pilot makes his final approach
To the Grand Tower of Gla**.
The Royal Committee on Obedience
Stages yet another a**embly, sitting with hands crossed
In the Mighty Chamber of the Suns, with King Oligako
Perched atop his thrown, towering above
Cascading rows of subordinates
Flowing like a waterfall of elite nectar.
At once they rise.
The mighty solar wind blows capes
In the air like flapping flags
Large panes of gla** give view of the skyline
Draped in thousands upon thousands of layers of gla**
All reflecting the rage of the suns upon the weak in the sands.
At the exact moment their powerful King gives thanks
To The Three
A terrifying rumble comes from below
The sands begin to rise up, a roar of desperate voices
Sing songs of hope and revenge
And the sky begins to darken.
“Oh Three, You Glorious Three” the caped elite
Begin to sing. “Our tithe we give for this life we live
Oh Three, You Glorious Three”
But it is in fact The Three, the omnipotent Nacarat
That lines the sky and blinds the eyes of power and sight
For this is the night the heat of the sands climbs the gla** walls.