I recall the day He fell from grace,
Wresting the tyrant from his throne.
Seraphs and cherubs were displaced,
His people buried deep below.
And there the unrest finally boiled.
The profane serfs endured too much.
Divine peerage drunk on holy spoils;
The rest to slog in primal mud.
We held our disdain to abide -
Alas we paid the price in blood;
We piled the bodies of our martyrs high -
A tower to pierce heaven's gut.
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