So one comes forth to apply His ART,
Spins rhyme and rhythm with the grace of a fart.
You speak of a bardling, and I wonder who,
This ignorant youth can only be you..

"War!" you cry, and indeed that may be,
Why? Because there exist some who wish to be free.
Polish those halos and don 'goodie-two-shoes',
Prepare your solemn dirges, it's a fight you will lose.

You all wish to paint the world black and white,
Trample any other colours beneath the will of your MIGHT.
If any understanding is found lacking, it's yours,
The lies you tell us pale to those within your own shores.

"Oppression!" you shout, and begin pointing fingers,
There, look! See? That is where dissatisfaction should linger!
You huff and you puff, a pot calling kettles black,
The only deluded souls are those at your back.

The rest of Sapience weary of your juvenile tantrums,
Where once friendly ears, all have quickly abandoned.
You cannot win shoving pamphlets down throats,
We choke and gag on the 'Light and Good' you promote.

Try another venue, of that I implore,
Destroying all who oppose is what tyranny's for.
Just because we don't lick those pristine heels,
Doesn't make us less, our Freedom is not yours to steal.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Chronos, in the year 644 AF.