I hear their countless voices sing,
Their voices, through dying screams, ring.
Screams tell of times forgone,
Of the stories far long gone.
Their sacrifice for truth, all for naught
As next generations were plagued with sloth.
Blame, shame, endless blame
They were haunted by dear deathless fame.
Stories the next do tell
Hidden beneath a veil of shells.
I hear them sing
But, their voices were anything...
Of course, except mocking.