Ascension

I recall the Days before the World turned cruel
 When two young Descendants had not yet thought to rule
 As these Seasons change it seems to me
 He sees not a Brother but an Enemy
 He has spoken of the Voice that directs him to rise
 It sings in his Ear and promises Ascension as his Prize
 Father is growing old amidst this strife
 I fear that my Brother is growing bold
 Factions are building and the turmoil is boiling
 Great gains can be made upon the pain of the people
 He has spoken of the Voice that directs him to rise
 It whispers in his Ear and promises Ascension as his Prize
 It was an unassuming August morn
 The Younger of two Brothers the last to be born
 Presumed upon himself my birthright
 Father was slain with a stolen Crown he cast me down
 The River has taken a turn and I must follow its Course
 I must seek the strength that lives in me
 He has spoken of the Voice that directs him to rise
 It whispers in his Ear and promises Ascension as his Prize