Came to me randomly (whilst reading about Prussia) it in essence is Europe's lament on their falls from grace.
The strength we had where has it gone? That power we had to smash our forces into one another over territory. That might which we wore, draped about our shoulders. The air in which we carried ourselves, that of nobilities. The fire which blazed within our eyes in the depths of our battle lust. The steel which showed no mercy to the defeated. The force with which we assembled our empires.
America, it had gone to him. A child forged overseas by the ideas of Europe. The New World. A boy who had never felt his borders smashed into and shrunk by some invading army. A child who's people never had to suffer true hardship when he meddled in our affairs. Who never had to see all he had gained stripped from him by some 'divine force'. Who didn't have to fight for his right for his borders as we did.
But he would fall, as we have. History repeats itself they say and it's true. The higher you fly the harder you fall, plummeting to the sea in a mess of wax and feathers. And he too would fall from grace as we all have, empires, kingdoms and commonwealths shattered to dust, the memory of which slowly fading from our people.
Short yeah. But I'm also working on a AusHun story which I want up around Valentines day.