Disorder in the battlefield, disorder in the home, the king gallops towards his fate of being overthrown.
Submission of the bodies no longer, relaxed and detached to the slaughter.
When the third estate wanted to shift the weight, they imagined a reinstate.
Coated in the ashes and blood of their empire, the people kept on trying to climb higher.
The pale horse is now led to her fate, the price to pay for trying to dictate.
Humiliation of the crown ended by the blade, once the strongest, now knelt down and prayed.
Once the masses had earned liberation, it was once again stolen by administration.
Now all that’s left is chaos and rage, the struggle for power and wealth rearranged.
Mothers and children cry out in pain, what’s the point of this blood filled campaign?
Gunfire and silence crowds the streets, the unity of the revolution retreats.
Go ahead and run your mouth, see what happens. Names are written, then your vision blackens.
Is this the world the books described? Tyranny and torture all combined?
Is it still better than before? They ask, while the rest of Europe is coated in plaque.
Three men emerge, one above the others, and the country manages getting back up and recovers.
If we knew how it ended, would we still raise our voices? Next time the rich should make better choices.