Whistle and they will come to fry Iron into their own hide Self branded in style for the slavery To exemplify a worship that will steer Their volatile allegiance is guaranteed (With full bellies and empty minds...) At times a few wise do revolt Whose forefathers voiced the brazen bull They squander their spit in useless warnings A librarian's crusade for the illiterate On the hunt for a wivern A tiny tentacle of a much bigger beast Whose flesh is ground for mankind Like a dog, is a land to his lice (Embody an object of worship...) Time to pour gasoline down the anthill The mob is armed The livestock is corralled The geese are sent to march A few wise still do revolt Newcomers in a long string of martyrs Still they squander their spit in useless warnings A librarian's crusade for the illiterate (On the trail of a hollow armor) Enticed paint by number rebellion On the hunt for a wivern A tiny tentacle of the Leviathan