Six Sember Tyrannis

Awakened under omens
 of Rome's impending doom
 Beware the ides of march oh lord
 The great will fall in ruins
 I stand as supreme lord
 A tyrant aged in blood
 Woe to the hands that strike me down
 Concealed under love
 My dismal seed is sleeping
 With eyes open in the shadows
 A death forewarned
 Of treason
 Of hate
 All petitions now are void
 Gather as the bloodletting begins
 Stand tall with your knife in hand
 Oh pardon me thou bleeding piece of Earth
 That I am meek and Gentle with these butchers
 Thou are the ruins of the noblest of men
 That ever lived in the tide of the times
 Over thy wounds I prophesize
 A curse shall light on all men
 One of fury and strife
 Infants quartered
 With the hands of war
 Pity choked
 Tear the tongue from my mouth
 Feed it to the people
 Pompey can rest his feet
 In my blood