O the free winds,
you sweep every corner of these meadows!
O bright younglings,
you ride horses same as flipping eagles!
Hola, why do y'all rush hurr'ly on way?
Haha, fight with those who's rebel and stray.
Come on, pull up ya strings and test ya bows!
Move on, let's muster unto Court of Glows!
Glimmery nebula float in sky,
spirits of forefathers they dwell high.
Wavin rows torches in gloomy nyght,
kindlin ablaze flame in valors' eyes.
Mazkueše kut teáten sateḳá
ádauhktaef urdal!1
Scourges ready to point at the farworld,
farworld, what a doddle!
O the free winds you upheavals,
ashin each place under luft dome.
O paw gallop'rs you big deavils,
treadin flowers unto stale loam.
Rampant cracks ran fastly over all the broad map,
chewin many hamlets, gulpin feckless clay faiths.
Hence tare grew and sways in sunset which like stove's gap,
puffin out hot dews as eyes of tearful lost wraiths.
Sobs coldly stifled by toast-rite with raucous sound.
Mobs ugl'ly feasts in pall of Nyx as their affront.
Ambrosial fresh meat at pikes, sumptuous gems on ground.
A hubris laugh grows up and up flares bush in front.
Whose small brides wend to ôlâh, just dressin their fine?
What officiant has heart to let breaking wheels turn?
Seven cups of blood are brimmed and spilled as scent'd wine,
offered to the Scarlet Wolf2 that astrally yearns.
O the free winds on forlorn, seized nation,
could you smash the heavy, rimed and dead chain?
O the teen slave vowed with aspiration,
preordained for thrones and all lives to rein.
Leer unto Chaos Womb, he prayed but tried to kill.
Ordeals to Wounds, he caved Godd'ss by his mighty Will.
From None to Crown, his titles shine above Occults.
In flesh his paradise been grandly built and sculpt'd.
Hear the call from blood when heart beats!
Feel the quakes in flesh and pumped heats!
World's just like a house on fire,
yet by him we bear no injure.
Convert to great Ion!
He combusted huge wrath to Alaggada.
Praise almighty Ion!
He fete' crows with tyrant's wreck' cadaver.
Glad for selfless Ion!
He will spread arcana unto far zones.
So devote to Ion!
He will shepherd Flesh to mount divine thrones.
O free winds you billow out mass banners
like hued clouds, lunged by celestial long lance.
O the freak who erstwhile called Ropes Breaker,
why you weirdly shackles world with starved trance?
Presto, yonder up comes mage is Western Hero!
Marching golem phalanxs per his brazen mace's lead.
Witness, Eastern Queen charg's forward shield'd by Gold Crows!
Granted from king Wǔdīng3, yuè4 wield'd by her on steed.
As prediction said from eons early:
Flesh, be clean! Root out spread-pus with metals.
Righteous troops advance in Lord's sight neatly.
We protect men from cursed fiends whence battles.
Brethren! We are child of Broken,
hearts unit'd in grandest mission.
Sun Invictus! We, his loved braves,
strut with lustre trampling foul laves.
Make blade (of) v'ctory flash to (night) sky thence day-break,
once more global buds will up stretch to wake.
Yet when bow of doom is tensed in shadow,
all fade into mould-mirage on time-flow.
O free winds, you come again to
blow away the yester haze and dazed din.
O new black moon, you drift up through
something blurred and smalt which whelmed the welkin.
Put rapture Veil when Masquerade is held.
Death grins aside. Grape splashed on scythe he smelled.
But careful words from Pangloss' loving heart
can not stir their profound out off tanked part.
Behind the narrow gate blocked by dim grille,
crown laid for absenc'r hanged and wiltin still.
Whimsies and miracles cabined in dungeons' cage(s).
Wanderers' blood dried on land of forgotten age(s).
Hidden books5 dug from walls, only to burn with tease.
Scraps in dust all∅yed with dusk, murmurin hence the breeze.
What's wrong done by us? What sin should we bear thence fuss?
Are we doomed to be shred by disasters' knife thus?
Wh'aye grind our unconscious to make pains devoid?
Wh'aye throw our screams into abyss of the Void?
Nobody mind'd. Nobody sighed.
Nobody gazed window unto wast wild.
Droppin tears melt'd into chill rain,
washin out past trac's the pale stain.
Nobody logs. Nobody sorts.
Nobody hums folks as always like yore.
Hearken, echos gently purl' in woe-mirth,
they once crossin seven seas and vast earth.
Carried by free carefree winds as aria,
they waft through each silent land in historia.
Remember us…