Allies and rallies? I ne're seen a softer rhyme,
So sure, I'll call you Shuun, stiff and locked away in rime.
Let me go and get some kindling, I can take the time,
While I cook up my dinner: chicken with sage and thyme.

I've got my kindling going now, time to build the pyre,
Material selections important when ones to build a fire.
Generally we must be choose-y but the banks of the Shuun provide,
Deadfall as far as the eye can see, those who're by your side.

You say your shoulders icy but it's got some company,
A strange lot of bedfellows you've invited in for tea.
You talk of double standards, then it's good you have but one,
Take the help of any sword, as long as the battles won.

You've taken the hand of Ashtan which I'm certain would surprise,
A former patron and Imperiate, who didn't see eye to eye.
Heard there was an awful row that pushed both off your peak,
Leaving a gap for a Mischievous Lady to stick Her di-vine beak.

She held court in your gardens, so the story goes,
You sat helpless at Centre Crossing while She laughed and thumbed Her nose.
Maybe it gave you a taste, but watch your appetite,
Cuz now it's Babel's soldiers that you're bringing to the fight.

You've locked hands with Mhaldor which I admit makes some sense,
For beyond your romping nature and affectionate pretense.
Is a labyrinth of committees and progress buffering,
You'd teach the Tryannus a thing or two about true suffering.

Oppression well you've got that too, as the whole world knows,
Gather enough friends and you can ignore the people's woes.
What a way to guide a ship tossed on the diploma-sea,
Senators and Imperiates chosen by clique-ocracy.

You're hand in glove with Hashan, but which one is the hand?
You know they've got fingers, in pies all across the land?
You throw the 'teth at our feet but think your new friends are fab,
Gods forbid you find out what they do down in their lab.

You've opened your door to schemers, invited them right in,
Think they're playing in your orchestra, every movement til the end.
But they're saying they're the conductor, directing every note,
While you bob your head to the tablature, sight-reading what they wrote.

And gods all of the shouting, all of the shouting goin' round,
If ev'ry shout was a soldier, you'd have shouted us to the ground.
But battles are fought by bodies and the weapons that they wield,
So just be sure to bring your friends to even the playing field.

Oh shit, my chicken. I let it alone too long,
The fire cracked and crisped it, while a reeled away my song.
Thinking I'll just leave it, give the flame its meal,
And combine it with the rest of your ashes, dumped in the silverveil.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Ero, in the year 954 AF.