There's a sorrowed man in the sooty city
Where concrete and cars tumble
An eye to heaven turned grey and gritty
All around him a callous grumble
It was wrong when he was eleven
It got worse when he was twenty seven

A primal rage a primal roar
Directed at where the birds should soar
But instead; a field of smog
Nothing but a skyborne bog
He simply can't take any more
Rotten straight through his center core

But more than pedestrian passerbies heard
Comprehending every unintelligable word
Their interest piqued their word's infallible
Knowing this from past examples incalculable
Once again chanting never ending
Goading consoling will-rending

"WORSHIP ME!" We cried
"Don't leave us to rot and die!"
"WORSHIP ME!" We cried
Lend us your power so we may fly
"WORSHIP ME!" We cried
We won't abuse; history's but a lie!
"WORSHIP ME!" We cried

And
      He
          Could
                  See
                       Why
                             He
                                 Should
                                           Need
                                                   To
                                                       Bleed
                                                               For
                                                        Their
                                                Creed    
                                         Black
                                Seeds        Black
                            Of                         Seeds
                      Red                                      Red
             Deeds                                                 Deeds  
Dreamed                                            Dreamed


There's a little girl where the siren's song was wrote
Where the cliffs and the oceans battle
She got sick of the other cattle
So she made herself a boat
Then vanished without even a rattle
On her new home that floats

And of course we saw her casting off
But they could think not but of greed
With voices harsh, with voices soft
They cackled mightily indeed

"WORSHIP ME!" We cried
"Don't leave us to rot and die!"
"WORSHIP ME!" We cried
Lend us your power so we may fly
"WORSHIP ME!" We cried
We won't abuse; history's but a lie!
"WORSHIP ME!" We cried

But
     She
           Could
                   See
                        Their                                              Beings
                                Dreams                         Fearful
                                            Hear              Of
                                                    Screams
                                                                  Of
                                                         Fearful    Fearful
                                                Beings                       Beings
                                          And          Beings    Beings
                               Ceased                        And
                           To                                         Ceased
                 Believe                                                        Hearing
          Their                                                                          Their
Creeds                                                                                        Pleas



There's a little boy at the end of the world
Where mountains and glaciers wrestle
Toes and fingers curled
In his home safely nestled
In the black and winding caves
We noticed him, so they raved

But                                                            Pleas
     He                                                Their
         Could                                Heed
                 Not                 Should
                      See       He
                            Why


"WORSHIP ME!" We cried
"Don't leave us to rot and die!"
"WORSHIP ME!" We cried
Lend us your power so we may fly
"WORSHIP ME!" We cried
We won't abuse; history's but a lie!
"WORSHIP ME!" We cried

But time went on and on and on.  And the little boy's thoughts became ever more prevalent.  Their voices; our voices lost their keening edge.  Drowned out upon the skepticism found.
But time went on and on and on.  Some of us slept and could not awake.  Efforts redoubled in shameless fear seeking out any who would hear.  But slowly we all fell asleep, fell asleep, fell asleep, fell asleep, fell asleep.  

The last of us, the mightiest of they, knew what was coming.  He refused the sandman.
He did not slumber, though he slept.  He did not dream, though he wept.  For he saw, as time crept,  the last listener did not breath yet.  This thought he kept while the world finally knew peace.