Erudite Rulers of thy façade
Stone-faced before the blood of executions
One day you will quiver and quake
As your insides blaze in fury.
“A ça ira, ça ira, ça ira,” will resound,
A dire Twist of fate,
To dispel darkness no more
Now to break the necks of many.
Orphan tower, what has become of the rest?
The start of a pilgrim’s journey.
Shreds of memories hang from the chimeras beaks:
This one, pressure of the atmosphere. The other, alchemy.