This man of great renown,
If which his tales his looks at with a frown,
His father, near royalty, worthy of a crown,
Of violence and terror never wrote down.

This man, who beholds great fame,
Never once looked at his killing as a game,
He is, or was, cold and shrewd, never had a name,
Who bore the fault, who had the blame?

The answer is simple, like a child of three,
Of how the man of serpents, came to be,
The controllers of "liberty", ruling forceably,
The twelve men of shadows, known to few more than me.

The twelve of whom I speak, the twelve of fear and hate,
Forced the second and third men of serpents, to face the world and bait
The very earth around them with fierce determination, but wait,
They both fared misreably, misery which few can relate.