Pharaoh, Pharaoh Akhenaten,
Disk worshiper of the lone one Aten,
A supreme light displacing old gods,
Raging the priest caste to go at war,
Seen eccentric bust of alien artform,
Capital drifting to the southern rivers,
Lasting curse a golden masking son,
Temples destroyed not remembered,
Religions reformed in central powers,
Name scratched from history’s stone.
A middle fall of Sun’s Kingdoms long time.
And so,
We shall overcome this passing,
That from these lands departed,
All shall return to common home.
For when the poor gather to stomp at the base of the great pyramid of testament,
Its bronzed cap of burning setting sun shall tumble off as but a thinly veiled shroud,
Revealing hardness of hand chiseled stone beneath the illusion of ascendant peak.
And calling as a prophet from across the earth’s cool desert nights,
The winds of shifting sand shall whistle upon its exposed rock peak,
A song of great ages that all shall feel upon hearing its fusion blend,
Drizzling tune of the roaring of rain, blistering a heat of days ending,
Cracking earth, blowing upon the air, resounding “let my people go!”
And the cosmic lion that stands guard its renewal course,
Who gazes ever watchful at the rhythm of changing stars,
Shall align the heavenly charts for a new age of humanity,
Streaking a path through the descendants risen from time,
And connecting the constellations of our great precession.
And from this aligning of the starry heavens and earth’s billowed wind calling,
The poor workers shall rise in unison from their labours of heated exhaustion,
Breaking the pharaohs chains of indebted slavery and essentialized bondage,
Displacing the bronze cap, restoring a golden cap of the rising sun’s humanity,
And freeing themselves to at last enter the age of this sacred and green world,
All partaking in the flowing depth of the eternal wellspring, united in honest love.
So prepare your hands to partake in these miracles,
Warm your feet to stomp before this great pyramid,
Let loose your throat to unravel lies long shrouded,
And open your eyes to witness our shared wonders.
For the reckoning of ages is upon this falsen peak,
And the glory of golden sun shall shine true again!
We are the hands that hath built this tower,
We are the voices that do sing of its weight,
We are the eyes that gaze far upon its peak,
We are the many who may let ourselves free,
And from our creation, shall the cap be reset,
For this is our home, and we are its commons.
Greed is a creed that only climbs mountains,
Reality is our reaction tumbling past its peak.