This Earthly Realm

The sum of lackluster wills

Fashionably undone

Ever soothing our ills,

Seekers of fun

From truth we run

In false light – repair

Subject to the baron,

Of the power of the air

It’s pride that kills

Second to none,

Oh the chills

Have just begun

At the point of a gun

Thus we despair

Subject to the baron,

Of the power of the air

Receding from the hills

Sure to be overrun

And the chasm fills

One by one,

A fallen legion,

Trapped in the snare,

Subject to the baron,

Of the power of the air

Yet there is a scission

Most are not aware

Subject to the baron,

Of the power of the air