Well off went my diary, long has that been burnt to a crisp. Lately I've been doing a lot and ruminating a lot more. Mostly ruminating on the state of things in the coast really. Theres a lot to be angry about just as there is a lot to be happy for. Maybe a bit too much of both to the point I almost feel bipolar at times. But I guess that's only natural.
I have found an outlet of... sorts. Song. I'm sure my goddess would approve, if not of the contents but of something that brings dance to ones step. I have a good many pages of unpublished, and unsung song. I wonder what to even do with it? Maybe I'll simply use this tome to write. It is bad? Yeah. I'm... really not an artist unless you count the way I kill art. But I do enjoy the song and its a really good and healthy outlet to have.
I'll start with a song I wrote for Myradon.
Heres a few more, though actually unsung.The Vindicators March
"From the depths of Greenfields, we raise our voice,
The Myradon Vindicators, we made our choice,
To stand against the tyrants, to stand against the lies,
We'll end the suffering under these endless skies.
March on, march on, oh Vindicators brave,
With hearts of lions, it's Myradon we'll save,
We march for justice, we march for peace,
With every step we take, the suffering shall decrease.
No child shall starve, no man in chains,
In our fair Myradon, where justice reigns,
We offer home and hearth, to those oppressed,
For in our hands, the downtrodden find rest.
March on, march on, with a purpose, oh so clear,
Bring hope to the helpless, bring the desolate cheer,
We march for the broken, we march for the weak,
With every voice in chorus, it’s justice that we speak.
We are the beacon in the darkest night,
The Vindicators marching, holding high the light,
Where monsters lurk, where bandits hide,
We march on undaunted, with righteousness as our guide.
March on, march on, for it's a new dawn we seek,
In fields and in forests, on mountain peak,
We march for the silenced, we march for the free,
From the depths of the Greenfields, a better world we'll see.
So listen, ye mighty, listen, ye small,
We are the Myradon Vindicators, answering the call,
We march on together, and let it be known,
In the heart of the Greenfields, a new seed is sown."
Beneath the Gilded Crown
Beneath the gilded crown, what doth thy see,
A veil of virtue, or a treachery spree?
Knights of the realm, bound in iron chains,
Feudal lords bask, whilst the lands they wane.
Nobles they name themselves, sitting high and pretty,
Their hearts but empty caverns, void of any pity,
Claim they virtue and honor, draped in silken cloak,
Their actions tell a tale, of a different folk.
Beneath the gilded crown, what doth thy see,
A veil of virtue, or a treachery spree?
Knights of the realm, bound in iron chains,
Feudal lords bask, whilst the lands they wane.
Noble knights, once brave, bound by the chain,
Serving under the crest, bearing the lord's stain,
Lost their voice, their will, beneath the oath they sworn,
Once men of valor, now dogs to a horn.
Beneath the gilded crown, what doth thy see,
A veil of virtue, or a treachery spree?
Knights of the realm, bound in iron chains,
Feudal lords bask, whilst the lands they wane.
The realm weeps beneath, the burden of gold,
In the hands of the few, the power they hold,
Hereditary titles, a game of the dice,
The common man pays, the ultimate price.
Beneath the gilded crown, what doth thy see,
A veil of virtue, or a treachery spree?
Knights of the realm, bound in iron chains,
Feudal lords bask, whilst the lands they wane.
So here I stand, my fury ablaze,
Against the crown, my voice I raise,
A storm is brewing, the air tastes sour,
For the realm shall reclaim, its lost power.
The Banners of Discord
In the castle of opulence, where shadows masquerade,
Sit the lords of high birth, deals of deceit they've made,
Under titles and crests, their true visage they hide,
In the court of the jesters, their malevolence reside.
Raise the banners of discord, let the winds carry our roar,
Against the gilded throne, and the lies it bore,
In the face of their power, our spirits won't fray,
For in the echoes of the wind, the truth will sway.
Iron-clad knights, once free men of the vale,
Bound by chains of fealty, under the lord's regale,
Lost their will, their voice, to the serenade of gold,
In the halls of the silenced, their stories remain untold.
Raise the banners of discord, let the winds carry our roar,
Against the gilded throne, and the lies it bore,
In the face of their power, our spirits won't fray,
For in the echoes of the wind, the truth will sway.
The towers stand tall, on the sweat of the meek,
In the fields of disparity, the future looks bleak,
Wealth in the hands of the undeserving few,
Time for a reckoning, for justice is due.
Raise the banners of discord, let the winds carry our roar,
Against the gilded throne, and the lies it bore,
In the face of their power, our spirits won't fray,
For in the echoes of the wind, the truth will sway.
In the whispers of rebellion, a spark ignites,
Against the darkness, a beacon of rights,
In the wake of the struggle, the dawn will break,
For the reign of the just, a new world we'll make.
Tempest of Retribution
In halls of gold and silver, false nobles sneer and jest,
Behind masks of virtue, their sins they've neatly dressed,
Their laugh rings hollow, their promises but lies,
For beneath the velvet guise, the serpent's heart lies.
Sound the bell of vengeance, let its echo fill the night,
A tempest of retribution, in the face of the spite,
Against the tide of treachery, our wrath will stand tall,
Let the castle of deceit, crumble and fall.
Knights in armor shining, hounds at the noble's behest,
Lost their soul to servitude, in the name of a crest,
Trapped in chains of vassalage, their spirit torn and frayed,
In the dungeon of obedience, their valor has decayed.
Sound the bell of vengeance, let its echo fill the night,
A tempest of retribution, in the face of the spite,
Against the tide of treachery, our wrath will stand tall,
Let the castle of deceit, crumble and fall.
In the shadow of the keep, the common man toils,
The fruit of their labor, in noble coffers it coils,
Rigged is the game, played on the chessboard of power,
Yet, the sands of time are nearing the final hour.
Sound the bell of vengeance, let its echo fill the night,
A tempest of retribution, in the face of the spite,
Against the tide of treachery, our wrath will stand tall,
Let the castle of deceit, crumble and fall.
From the ashes of the old, a phoenix shall rise,
Bearing the banner of truth, under the open skies,
The hour of reckoning is here, hear the clarion call,
The storm is upon us, let the tyrants fall.